Zumba-versary

(Yes, this is a long, wordy post. Forgive me. I'm just making up for all the times I wrote nothing in February.) It was two years ago last week that my fabulous sister-in-law Megan dragged me to my first Zumba class. I should give her a present—every year for the rest of forever. She just thought it was a fun way to get some exercise, which it is, but for me it's become so much more than that. Yes, I've gotten in much better shape than I've been in since high school. Yes, I have energy and stamina and a body that's not four sizes too big. Those are all great things. But the biggest benefits I've seen from Zumba aren't the ones you see on the outside. I feel like I've come alive again.

I have this self-confidence I haven't had since I was in elementary school. Seriously. I actually believe in myself again. It's not that I ever thought I was completely worthless; I just thought I had probably reached my potential, and what I had was as good as it was going to get. I knew there were better things out there, but I didn't think I was talented enough or lucky enough or blessed enough to get them. Yeah, whatever. The sky's the limit, baby!

Of course, this new attitude doesn't come without its own set of problems. Now I get frustrated because I can actually see my potential but can't see how to reach it, or I can see how to reach it but it isn't happening fast enough. But you know what? I'll take that kind of frustration any day over the quiet desperation I was living with before. And I still have those days when I snap back into that other me for a while, and I'll start doubting everything again, but with a little help from my friends I can usually get over it.

So what exactly caused this change? I've been trying to figure that out, and I've decided it was a lot of things—finding something I absolutely loved and getting to do it almost every day, being able to see the progress I was making, and constantly learning new things among them. But the main factor was pushing myself (or getting pushed) out of my comfort zone, over and over and over again. You're scared to death to teach a song? Get up there and teach it. You don't think you'll ever be ready to teach a class? Guess what, here's a class; go teach it. You feel completely overwhelmed when you're asked to sub a class full of Zumba-holics who love their regular instructor and don't even know who you are (and tell you when you walk in, "Wow, we've never had a non-Latin instructor before")? Jump right in and go for it. If you believe in yourself, even if you're mostly just pretending to believe in yourself while you're actually about to pass out from nervousness, other people will see that and believe in you too—or at least give you a chance to prove yourself. And while sometimes you crash and burn, at least you tried. At least you didn't let the opportunity slide past you. At least you're out there living your life instead of just watching it go by.

There are, of course, other things I've gained from Zumba: amazing friends (seriously, I don't know what I'd do without some of the people who are now in my life and who I never would have met without Zumba—they've saved me in more ways than one); the ability to talk to complete strangers (it's impossible to be shy if you're wearing fluorescent yellow cargo pants with blue tassels on the pockets, and that confidence tends to stay with you even if you're wearing jeans [but not skirts, which is weird; skirts still make me feel insignificant and unimportant and boring]); a reason to get off the couch (you have no idea how much work—physically and emotionally—it takes to be an instructor until you do it, but it's totally worth it); and a bit more of a feisty nature (which was always there; it's just been repressed for so long I'd forgotten about it). Add those to the exercise benefits and the ability to believe in myself, and it's no wonder I want to buy Megan a present on my Zumba-versary. My only regret is that it took so long for me to get there.