I got to my body sculpting class early today. The class before mine, Zumba, was still in full swing. The heavy beats of Latin music were blaring; bodies, not all sexy, were feverishly gyrating, not all in tempo. The exaggerated dance steps caused the overhanging belly flesh and the flabby thighs to jiggle in sync with sweaty flapping triceps.
I thought to myself: I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.
But as I was admonishing myself to stick to spinning and weight training lest I make a fool of myself, I couldn’t help being mesmerized by the smiling faces in the class. Everyone there seemed to be genuinely enjoying themselves, moving around carefreely no matter how awkwardly they might look to an outsider. A few people even had their eyes closed, just dancing the way they wanted to dance to the sound of the music.
The energy of the class was so attractive. I envied how un-self-consciously the people were and how comfortable they were with their imperfect bodies.
I am not ready to take that class yet. I am still hopelessly uncoordinated and stiff, and above all vain. But I do hope one day I can join these people and let myself go.