Zumba Memories
Rehabbing a fractured Tibia couldn’t even keep me from Zumba!
For months. Day in. Day out. An eager group of women — myself included — filed in, scurrying to claim our spots and packing the room like sardines. The crowded, sweaty room never bothered us — not too much anyway. We were too caught up in the rapture. Too caught up in the Latin rhythms, Hip Hop beats, and African drums. Oh, what fun we had shaking our hips, stomping our feet, laughing in Zumba.
The days I spent shaking my hips and laughing with the ladies were the early days of my self-discovery and weight loss journey. For me, it was a time where I met new friends, discovered things about myself, unleashed inhibitions, melted inches off of my waist — while having a blast! In retrospect, the months that I spent in those countless Zumba classes were really when Chrisetta became alive.
Recently, a Zumba favorite came on in rotation while I was listening to my iPod. It brought back memories, Zumba memories. I soon found myself listening to Zumba tune, after Zumba tune. The music started getting really good and before I knew it I was up on my feet shaking it a little! Funny, I still remember some of the choreography.
I was so moved by the music, I paused just for a moment to post a Facebook message to my Zumba friends, calling for a Zumba reunion. I surmised from my friends responses that they too felt the same. Those Zumba months were a very special time in all of our lives. For different reasons. Though it wasn’t said, it was implied. We all needed each other, for one reason or another. But, the season has passed. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. We’ve grown. We’ve moved on. Yes, we’re still friends. Sure, we still love Zumba. But, the season has ended. Our time together in that capacity has expired. *See previous blog post about reasons and seasons here.*
We bonded in Zumba. We changed in Zumba. We had the time of our lives in Zumba. Through music. Through Salsa and Merengue. Through laughter.
Thanks Zumba for the friends, the smaller waists, and the memories.
Chrisetta Mosley
I am a product – and now a survivor – of childhood obesity. As a child, my family always told me that my extra weight was merely baby fat and I’d eventually grow out of it. I never did. Instead, my childhood is filled with memories of not being able to ride a bike, flattening its training wheels from being over the recommended weight, and avoiding P.E. classes by any means necessary. For years, I wore my fatness like a wounded soldier wears a Purple Heart - with pride. I owned the look. I dressed it up. I worked the room. There wasn't a skinny girl who intimidated me. I made sure my hair was laid just right. Nails polished. Outfits coordinated to the tee. Accessories to compliment every outfit. But everyone has a breaking point, and mine came in the spring of 2004 when I tipped the scale at nearly 400 pounds 388 to be exact. I was MISERABLE trapped inside of that body. I no longer wore my Purple Heart with pride. Rather, I was ashamed and frightened. Ashamed that I had allowed food to become my everything – frightened I would die because of it. Drastic times called for drastic measures... Today, I’m bound and determined to live a better, healthier, active lifestyle. I realize I’m no longer a passenger in my life, I’m the driver. I’m overcoming my inhibitions and I’m slowly but surely saying farewell to my old childhood nemesis, obesity. For once and for all, Farewell Fatso!