This week’s first Zumba class was easier than the last, but also more intense. I even managed to sweat through the four layers of ‘boob strappage’ I find myself forced to wear in order to avoid injury to my chin and face with stray breast movements. I kid you not that the top half of my Zumba ‘uniform’ includes the following assortment of support: an underwire bra, a sports bra two sizes too small, a Spanx-like tank top with built-in bra shelf, and one tight-fitting, “lifting seams” workout top. I must admit it holds me in and down quite well, although it feels as though if I take a deep enough breath everything might come bursting out, and it creates a most un-attractive, rather large, oval-shaped uni-boob in the center of my chest. But, fashion must take a back seat to this newfound ‘focus’ on fat-busting.
I’ve mentioned the jinggly scarf we wear during these Zumba classes and I am happy to report that Ginger and I found and purchased our very own scarves at an expo we attended with our friend Martha this week. Ginger went with a very nice white one to match her shoes, while I chose a more obnoxious, bright orange one that won’t match a thing. Alas, I am no longer a slave to fashion, but now a slave to the possibility of being able to wear actual “fashions” again. Plus, if this Zumba thing doesn’t work out, I could always find part-time work directing traffic in all the construction zones popping up in my area! (It’s always good to have something to fall back on, right?)
I must confess that my initial apprehension to wearing this bell-covered scarf was very narrow-minded of me. Now that I own one, I find myself wearing it around the house while doing the housework. I am really enjoying the fact that I can put away the dishes while jinggling myself a tune. I put in a CD, fold the laundry, and all the while shaking my rear to the beat. When I make the kids’ lunches, do the dishes, pay bills, or even comb my hair, I shake, shake, shake away merrily. I wish there were a way for me to calculate how many extra calories I am burning with my newfound enjoyment of being noisy. I’m sure I look like a lunatic, but again….focus, focus, focus.
Today was ‘weigh-in’ day, and for the first time in my life I was actually excited to step onto a scale. I had ribbons of memories of the hours I’ve worked out, the buckets of sweat I have shed, and the days of not being able to lift my arms or walk normally streaming through my head……surely those would all mean so much when that number settled on my ‘new weight’. Proudly I stepped onto the scale, confident in my progress……When the numbers finally stopped, I about fell over! Only 3.6 pounds??? ONLY 3.6 pounds? What happened? Suddenly those ribbons of memories became more intense, quickly breaking themselves down into numbers……..2 hours and 15 minutes of Zumba, 6 hours of gym time, gallons of sweat, and countless hours of moving about like Frankenstein grunting and in pain……..and for 3.6 measly pounds??? The taste of defeat was quickly engulfing me. Ginger, sensing my disappointment jumped in with a quick sets of fitness facts….like how much water I had drank, how long it took me to put on the 50 pounds I want to lose, the fact that muscle weighs more than fat, something about how it might take a week or two before the weight really begins to fall off, and that losing 3.6 pounds a week for the next 3 months adds up to over 40 pounds. This is why you go to the gym with a good friend.
I’m not sure when, but at some point between pulling me back from the edge and putting her shoes back on Ginger noticed a BMI feature on this scale. Okay, another number with which to measure progress, no worries. The more numbers, the better the chance that one of them will come out in my favor, right? I stepped back on the un-forgiving scale, entered my height and waited nervously while the scale calculated a total BMI…Good thing Ginger was there, because I was headed right back for that ledge…….