Last night I went to hip hop class, and let me tell you, there is nothing better than watching a bunch of middle-aged women get down to the likes of P. Diddy and Willow Smith. I joined a gym a couple of months ago, thinking I would try to get in shape for a cruise I have coming up in a month and a half. At first I used the gym for the kick ass outdoor pool complete with a water slide and outdoor cafe. Once I got my fill of the sun, I thought I better get off my ass and get my monies worth by actually taking a class. That's when I discovered Hip Hop for white chicks. It meets twice a week, so I gave it a go. The first class was brutal. I didn't know the steps (or some of the songs for that matter), and it had been oh...never since I did 60 minutes of straight cardio. It was one of those classes where I checked the clock thinking I had been shaking my ass for a half hour and it had been 10 minutes. When it finally finished, I took one step out the door and crashed on the floor in a fit of panic breathing and sweat pouring from everywhere. Everywhere. Why then would I go back for more? Three reasons, 1. I have to lose this weight somehow, 2. I want to improve my dance skillz, and 3. the instructor is incredible. This guy is apparently THE hip hop guy in my town. Once I started talking about taking this class with my friends, people came out of the woodwork talking about the rasta lookin' hip hop guru. Apparently I was late to this boat. One part beanpole, one part braided dreads, Michael is something out of a music video. His teaching style is "do what I do," which was intimidating at first, but once I got the hang, it wasn't so bad. I can Whip My Hair with the best of them now. More than being great at dancing, he seems like the kind of guy who's best buds with everyone. Jubilant if you will. While Michael is great, the best part has to be the people watching. Seems like a weird place to people watch, but the gym is crawling with all sorts of interesting creatures, and the best ones take hip hop class. Some of these women don't look like they get off the couch much (myself included), but they put me to shame. Nothing better than watching grandma shake her tail feather like it's on fire...and nothing sadder than me standing behind her emulating her every move to keep up. Class meets twice a week...I better go practice.
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