My workout schedule is almost identical to that of Fat Amy's in "Pitch Perfect," it consists of horizontal running and... Well, nothing else really. Other than walking to class every morning and attending a yoga class every week or so, I rarely do anything that could even fall into the category of physical activity.
You can imagine my hesitation when my friends asked me to attend a cardio dance class. Just the word "cardio" made me want to fake an illness and avoid the situation altogether.
But if there is one thing I love more than I fear cardio, it's dancing. Am I good at it? Absolutely not. Do I do it in public? Never. Do I have weird dreams about ballroom dancing with Derek Hough? Occasionally. Has my roommate walked in on me jumping around the room while singing "Uptown Girl" into a hairbrush? Almost.
Long story short: I went to the class. Not only did I go to the class, but I was front-and-center. I was absolutely terrified, to say the least.
For anyone who doesn't know, I dance like an injured goose (similar to Taylor Swift in the "Delicate" music video.) That being said, you can imagine my fear of being on display for every other girl present during that class. Now, I don't want to say I rocked it or anything, but I definitely had the most fun!
When is the last time you had the opportunity to body roll to an Ariana Grande song? For me, it was never.
I couldn't care less that my grasshopper arms refused to sway like the instructors. I felt no embarrassment when my hip shaking was nonexistent. And when I almost slipped while hopping into a criss-cross move, I simply tilted my chin up and acted as though nothing was wrong. As far as I was concerned, nothing was.
That was until after class.
It has now been almost forty-eight hours since my class, and my legs still tell me a short, yet assertive, "please, no" each time I climb a flight of stairs. The muscles in my core (Who knew I had those?) give a small ache when I sit down.
My fun dance class actually broke me.
How could this be? I have played "Just Dance" numerous times! Sure, I occasionally played from the couch, just shaking the Wii remote enough to earn four stars, but the thought was still there. My fifth-grade ballet class never made me feel this way. Who knew dance could be this hard?
Oh, that's right. Every. Dancer. Ever.
As the majority of America views dancing as an art, anyone could do if they put in enough time, I know differently. My thirteen-year-old sister is in competitive dance, and she is stronger than most athletes I have come across. If I had to pick a fight with either her or Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson, I would choose The Rock. At least he might take pity on me.
Dancing is no joke. So much strength is required for the simplest of moves. It requires balance and grace as well. Ballerinas may seem to float across the stage, but in reality, their calves of steel are pushing them, step after step.
In other words, I will not be joining the local ballet company anytime soon, but I have a new appreciation for the world of dance I thought I knew. There was more skill and persistence required for one forty-five minute class than I could have imagined. I will likely never be able to reach the un-awkward skill level of dancing, but I can assure you that will not be the last cardio dance class I attend.
