Zumbafreak is actually crazy you guys. She had already gone to two Zumba classes by 3pm, and was getting ready for a non-stop, all out 90-minute session by pounding a cranberry vodka while sporting a special Zumba thumb-band and pointing out managers from all of the clubs who were making guest appearances. Meanwhile, exercisers of all levels waiting for this class were pumped up – a live drummer! non-stop sweating! fashion!
And so it began. A drummer, 4 instructors, and a crowded room began the most cultish 90 minutes of awesomeness. I couldn’t follow all the butt shaking, foot thumping, sexy sliding, carefully timed movements, but I’m not so sure it mattered. Within minutes, I was having a blast feeling like I was getting a fantastic workout. Most of the people in the class knew the moves, and it was obvious who wasn’t in the cult when opposing sides of the room went to battle. I think I knocked into 5 people and was pointing at someone wearing a florescent yellow shirt at the wrong time, but the cult didn’t care; they just kept moving.
As the instructors rotated, I saw 4 very different styles (pardon my ignorance here): dramatic dance, bootylicious ghetto, sexy strong, and smooth latin. With each change, I tried to follow at least one part of it. Also with each change, the real zumbafreaks somehow got more energized and proficient. Good for them.
At the end, people who were all dressed colorfully (in zumba clothes, which I learned MUST be coordinated, down to the sport bra and shoelaces) chatted and karaoked and danced and praised. I later learned that many of them had just met that night. But they were united as zumbafreaks. I was totally welcome, and they were totally awesome people with amazing skill who have amazing fun, but a cult is a cult, and they are a cult.
Get in while you can, people. Try these open sessions (like I did) and you’ll want to go back, if for no other reason then to look less silly the next time. Zumbafreak may be nuts, but I think she’s on to something.
Jen Bokoff 