Zumba in Zambia

I don't much like exercise classes. Anyone who grew up in Britain in the 80s might recall the trend of the 'keep fat' class with all the pink spandex and bandanas. I'm also not good at team sports. The minute someone expects me to catch a ball, throw it into a net or make a semi-accurate pass, I fall to pieces losing all semblance of coordination. Hopeless....

Running, as a solitary form of exercise works for me. I make one exception, however. I do love a good Zumba class.  Somehow my body is able to remember all the club moves of my youth and is able to perform them without copious amounts of alcohol. Amazing.

If you happen to live near the Wilson YMCA in North Carolina, there is the most fantastic Zumba class on a Sunday afternoon. I went religiously. Some weeks I felt I was dancing in an Ibiza night club whereas others I thought I was in training for lap dancing. Unlike my clubbing days, I would leave feeling refreshed and energised. And the following day, I had neither a hangover nor any embarassing encounters with members of the opposite sex. I miss this class. It was fun.

So today, as I couldn't run (rainy season...more to come on this), I went to a Zambian Zumba class. Apart from the catchy aliteration, not much else engaged me. I will never be able to do the African woman hip shake. And at my age, I need a musical repertoire which spans three decades and not the past three weeks.

Back to running tomorrow....