The second I walked into my local Zumba class for the first time, I felt a twinge of embarrassment — I was the youngest person there by decades. Did I really belong?
But I figured I’d give it a try anyway. I was turned off by the intensity and competitiveness of workout classes with people my own age and ready for something different. As a young woman who is disabled due to chronic illness, I have a complicated relationship with my body. I was born with cystic fibrosis (CF), a severe genetic respiratory disease that causes a buildup of sticky mucus in various organs. Thanks to my relatively mild mutation, when I keep up with medications and treatments I get to enjoy physical health much like any other 20-something — at least for brief stretches of time. I’ve played on sports teams, hiked the Camino de Santiago through Spain, trekked in the Peruvian Andes and danced in nightclubs around the world until the early hours of the morning. But every couple of years my condition will start to deteriorate, leading to worsening respiratory infections that eventually land me in the hospital for what CF-ers call a “tune-up,” or a couple of weeks on IV antibiotics. Throughout my life, I’ve also dealt with fibromyalgia, POTS, stomach ulcers, cluster headaches, 10 sinus surgeries and other kinds of afflictions. Because of all this, I carry a lot of resentment toward my physical form.
Part of that resentment comes from comparing myself to other people my age. I may look like a normal 27-year-old on the outside, but on the inside I’m in a near-constant battle with my disease. While many of my peers are training to run marathons or showing off their fitness progress on social media, I spend months at a time mired in fatigue, to the point where even a gentle yoga class feels like an impossible challenge. That’s why, after my most recent tune-up, I made it my mission to adjust my relationship to my body. After months of experimenting with different activities, I found joyful movement again in an unlikely form: Zumba class with people more than twice my age.
The first Zumba class I ever took at a local Pilates studio was unexpectedly hard. In Zumba, participants don’t learn and then practice choreography, but follow the instructor’s dance moves in real time. Between the cardio-intensive nature of Zumba and the mental workout that left me tripping over my own feet, I definitely felt out of my element. But there was something about dancing along to upbeat music without the pressure of performing that echoed back to my days as a wild backpacker clubbing around the world, so I kept going. A few months later, I found my current class, held in a local park building.
When I walked into the room, there were already a few dozen dancers there, most of whom appeared to be in their 60s and 70s and all of whom seemed to be longtime friends. But everyone greeted me with warm smiles as I took my place on the dance floor. Several class members came up to introduce themselves, and one woman even offered me a jingly hip scarf to wear, with the stipulation that I shake my hips extra hard so she could hear me from across the room.
As we danced, I felt liberated of any embarrassment. Unlike other fitness classes I’d been to in the past, I saw no self-consciousness or competitive spirit here, only joy. Some participants ran up on stage to join the instructor when their favorite songs played, and the rest of the group whooped and hollered their names in support. At one point, the choreography included running around the room to exchange high fives, and the dancers next to me shouted, “When I get older, I will be stronger” during each chorus of “Wavin’ Flag.” I left that class feeling lighter in both body and spirit.
I’ve been going to that Zumba class as often as I can for around a year now. It’s more than an exercise class — it’s a community. I’ve watched as the group has rallied behind its members, coming together to celebrate each other’s life events or help out when someone is sick or hurt. Outside of class, the group meets for brunches, holiday parties and other get-togethers, which I hope to join at some point.
Beyond giving me a community to belong to, this class has also helped me transform my relationship to my body. Like many of the older men and women I dance with, I’m there just to get some exercise and have fun — who cares if I miss a step or feel so tired I can barely wave my hands above my head?