I worked out five days last week. FIVE DAYS! And I ate Lean Shitusine every day for lunch. And by Friday I lost a pound and a half.
So I took a break from the gym this weekend, mainly because it was starting to feel like someone tied one end of a rubber band around my knee and the other end to a Buick and hit the gas. Just a little break – no big deal, right?
Oh no, it was a big deal. A big fat hairy deal. I stepped on the scale this morning and saw that I had gained two pounds from Friday.
What the hell, man?! I just took two days off! And ate a little cheese spread. A jar of cheese spread. But two pounds? I weigh more now than when I started. Awesome.
So this morning I decided to mix it up by taking a break from the treadmill and found a whole new way to torture myself with a Zumba class.
I would like to begin this story by sharing some common knowledge: my dance moves are straight raw. I am definitely the best dancer of my friends. And usually pretty much everyone on the dance floor. And it’s always been that way.
So I fully expected that by the end of the Zumba class the teacher would offer her tearful resignation and beg me to share the brilliant and unparallelled talent god had blessed me with by teaching all future classes. Then everyone would gather round me and cheer as I was crowned Master Zumba.
Then the music started.
It was some 128 beats per minute Spanish mess that everyone, including the 80-year-old woman in front of me with a cat on her t-shirt knew the moves to. Well, no matter. I’ll pick it up soon enough. But there were arms flying here and feet flying there and at one point I was just jumping up and down while slapping myself repeatedly in the face.
But as I mentioned I am an awesome dancer and it didn’t take long for me to master most of the moves. I incorporated my own freestyle choreography into the mix and soon I was the belle of the ball.
Then the old lady with the cat on her shirt moved out of the way and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Holy hell. I looked like I woke up strapped to a gurney and was desperately trying to free myself with my elbows.
This isn’t how I looked in my head! Is this how I always look when I dance? I tried some of my more popular moves and yes… I still looked like a big white douche bag.
I tried to use old lady cat as a mirror shield but I couldn’t keep up.
Oh the humanity! I was a train wreck!
Driving home I had an entirely new perspective on my life. I questioned everything I thought I knew. Was the sky even blue? Was this jar of peanut butter I was eating even made with real peanuts?
After I polished off the peanut butter I had a revelation. Of course! How could I have been so stupid? I knew exactly why my moves had been little stiff.
Next Monday I’m showing up to the class drunk.