“I got it from my daddy.” The beat drops and music blasts from the town plaza. “I got it from my daddy”. Another steady bass drop and the music picks back up again. The lyrics repeat “I got it from my daddy”. There is enough sweat running down my back to fill the Colorado River for about 3 seconds and my heart is racing. I find myself in a sea of middle-aged Filipino moms and one rather feminine Filipino man. The instructor on the outdoor stage of the town center has probably been leading Zumba classes since before I was born and, although I tend to think of my self as a reasonably good dancer, I am no match for these moms and their perfectly timed hip-hop thrusts, kicks, and jumps.
Allow me to back up just a bit. My team and I had heard tell that there was a Zumba class that took place down town every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 5:30pm. Naturally I made it my mission to investigate the situation. Erin and I put on our sweat pants and t-shirts, grab a drink at the 7-11 convince store and meander over to the town center. My intention was simply to investigate the situation. For me, this meant sitting in the back ground for a bit, figure out if we needed to pay, find out what kind of crowd goes and how they dress and come back another day to participate. We arrived and proceeded to take a seat near by. Quickly the Zumba crowd began to pour in. They were impossible to miss seeing as how the majority of them were dressed in neon colors with matching tank tops that said ‘zumba’ on the front and a sporty little hood in the back. A broad, muscular, Filipino woman with a bit of a mustache approached us and kindly invited us to join in. We politely declined and explained we just wanted to watch, but would come back to join the class another day.
The music began and the dancing commenced. I was enthralled. These people knew how to ‘break it down’ for lack of a better term. Erin and I, being like-minded, only lasted in the audience for about two minutes. We left our cold 7-11 slushies on the bleachers and did our best to sneak into the back row without drawing too much attention. We were completely out of sync and not nearly coordinated enough for these explicit moves, but, darn it, we gave it our all! No holding back. Step left, step right, drop it to the floor, throw your hips left, throw your hips right, hands up, hands down, shimmy, air guitar, repeat. They had it all.
I was only about two songs in when the only male in the class approached me in between dance numbers, leaned in close and informed me that I was sweating so much it looked like I had peed my pants. Suffice it to say I chose the wrong day to wear light teal sweat pants. Every bit of perspiration showed. To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. Pure mortification would be more accurate. However, I knew I had a choice at this point: succumb to my emotions and slink away or embrace the sweat and boldly dance on. I chose the ladder. Erin and I danced bravely on with the Filipino moms until we resembled two drowned rats. We laughed hard, and loved every moment of it, but when the music stopped my plan was to make a quick get away. This was not the case.
As it turns out, this was only the second time most of these people had seen Americans and they thought we were celebrities. The music stopped and the instructor climbed off the stage and came straight to us. Before we knew it the Filipinos surrounded us and we were taking ‘selfie’ pictures, one after another. We took ‘just one more’ picture for about fifteen minutes before we were able to get back to the bleachers where melted slushies were. I am convinced that those photos will soon be proudly on display in some ones house. We thanked them profusely for the dance class and promised to return for the next class with more Americans. We were told to wear pink when we return. Two days later we joined a jovial sea of pink, fist pumping it out in the town square. This time I wore black leggings and hid my sweat mess much better.
Who knew Zumba was such a large attraction and regularity in these, some what, untouched villages in the Philippines. Every day I am out here I learn something new and wonderful about this beautiful wide world we get to live in.
