Today our friend Claudia started talking to us about a dance class she recently began attending. Interested, Kadian and I asked her questions about the gym. She said we could come with her any day to see what it was like. Since today was our last chance before Monday, Kadian decided we should go. The next thing I knew, it was after school and Claudia's cute green little car (classic girl description, I know) was honking outside our gate. We ran outside clutching our red water bottles, both wearing pink and blank (the whole twin thing gets a little odd sometimes lol). We had no idea what we were about to encounter.
After a short drive, we came to the gym and realized it's the same one we walk by on our weekly grocery trip. I don't think they have such a thing as a "trial membership". I guess there not much need to compete since Comayagua only has two gyms. I hope there are more...but we only know about two and the second just exists in theory, no idea where it's at. Anyway, after slight deliberation, we got all signed up for the month--$20 gone out of my life. I never thought my first time joining a gym would be in Honduras. This gym reminds me of a Gold's Gym I walked into when I was doing literature evangelism one summer. Space it not wasted, equipment is not terribly knew (the Stairmaster didn't have settings that I could find...), workers are waiting to help.
We had about twenty minutes before the class started. Claudia told us she walked on a treadmill to warm up. Kadian went for the elliptical. After realizing the Stairmaster wasn't going to work out, and being confused by some other contraption of a machine that I've never seen in the States before, I decided to join Claudia. Here's the thing--treadmills. Yuck. I avoid them. There is just something so wrong about ground moving under my feet; I don't like the feeling that if my foot were to get stuck, I would fly backwards. Not to mention how utterly absolutely dull they are! I played around with the speed and incline until I was able to keep a nice jog/run. Thankfully I've been jump roping fairly regularly for the past month, or I wouldn't have made it. The only entertainment provided was a single large TV with a gigantic beast ox of a man talking about how he exercised. His size was grotesque. Other than that I was surrounded by mirror walls which only added to my thoughts of,
'If my foot were to get stuck right now...I would fly that way. Oh man, am I drifting toward the end. Shoot, I don't want to hang onto the handles. I swear my shoes have too much traction for this. Is this how it's supposed to feel? How do people enjoy running on these things?!'
Twenty minutes later class began. I floated away from the treadmill feeling a bit out of breath with nice rosy cheeks. Soon I realized why Claudia
walked to warm up. Oh my word! Growing up in a conservative Adventist world where dancing was frowned upon, even forbidden, this is a whole new experience for me. Claudia has a similar past with dancing (or lack there of), so I felt better knowing that I wasn't alone in my feelings of cluelessness. Yes, the environment and manner in which a lot of dancing is inappropriate (in my view). But I would like to make two statements. 1. I do not think that dancing in and of itself is evil. 2. Best exercise. Ever. So back to class.
There were about ten of us in, all women, most of whom looked to be in their mid to late thirties (the instructor looked about our age). I had to decide from the start to throw off fears. Since I struggle with perfectionist tendencies, I often dislike doing activities that I'm not good at. I don't like feeling awkward, unskilled, or well, just plain not that great at something. However, I let all that go and (tried) keeping up with our energetic instructor. I had such a blast! There were times when I felt completely confused about how I was supposed to moving my legs and my arms and the rest of me all such different ways. I felt like I automatically at a disadvantage, because I swear these Hondurans are just born with more rhythm and swivel. However, there were times when I felt like I really got it, and maybe I could learn how to dance. The instuctor was super sweet; she came to help me figure out the foot-work a couple times. We danced a little bit of everything--salsa, barchata, merengue, punta (really fast), and I haven't figured out if there were others.
At the end of class, I went to thank our instructor for her help and introduce myself. I kind of thought the whole face kissing thing might be skipped over since we were both covered in sweat, but this is Honduras. Honestly though, that's something I like about Honduran culture--it's very warm. I learned that her name is Yuri. We walked back through the aerobics/weight area to get to leave. The gym filled up in the hour that hour of dance class. The guys cracked me up! They all had these tight tank tops and serious facial expressions as they studied their bulging biceps and pecs. One guy, in an especially tight tank top, kept yanking it down so that his pectoral muscles would pop out the top. Wow. I just found them way too amusing, but I managed not to laugh until after we got outside. Poor fellows. I wonder how prolific steroid use is here.
Kadian and I are planning on going to class three times a week. I really love the feel of the class. It's a safe place. A place where I can dance like no one's watching and not worry about being laughed at. I can't help but feel a little sad when I think--there's no little Latino dance class like this in Lincoln, Nebraska. I am going to have to enjoy it while I can.
