He was wearing a bright green t-shirt, a marine blue baseball cap, black shorts, sneakers with neon green accents and a goofy grin. Flailing his arms wildly above his head and then to the side, he was doing his best to keep up with the rest of us in Zumba class.
It wasn’t the speed that was a problem. He was able to move quickly, even though his motions were more choppy than smooth.
The problem was the variety of combinations. His brain clearly couldn’t process the mixtures of arm and leg movements, or the mishmash of turning one way and then the other in four-count sets. And the hips? Forget about it.
His smile never faded, and during the breaks, he analyzed his movements, still trying to “get” a routine that was already over and wouldn’t be repeated until the next time. The woman next to him–his wife and a class regular–helped him figure it all out. For much of the hour they caught each other’s eye and laughed together hysterically as he tried to follow along. (They were truly charming.) I might have even heard a “yesssss!” once or twice as his steps matched ours, but I’m not sure.
He stood out like a sore thumb in many ways, but he worked harder than practically anyone I’ve ever seen to fit in. In the end, in his own way, he DID. I hope he’s back on Friday.
(It was such a pleasure to have a guy in Zumba class. The last time a guy got near our class, he stayed close but didn’t come in, and I wasn’t happy. Remember? Click here.)