Tuesday, March 05, 2013

All Hail the Adonis of Zumba
Thank goodness it was only a twenty four hour stomach flu. Today I taught a private lesson at home and managed to get our toilet repaired --which is harder possibly than teaching with the stomach flu. Seriously, between the emails to the landlord's daughter-in-law and the back and forth via cell phone to arrange a visit from our hunky plumber, plus cleaning every crevice of the bathroom because our plumber has high standards for his workspace, it is a huge undertaking and also not cheap. After all that I got a phone call from Claudia the goddess of Zumba.

She is very sweet and she feels for me because she is new too. She is either half Italian or she was born here, but her mom is from Uruguay -- the point is she is completely fluent and smart as a whip. She inherited the unfortunate position of substituting for the Adonis of Zumba who is worshiped by all three thousand members of the fancy gym. The Adonis is called Martin. He has a huge afro and a killer smile and muscles on his muscles. So instead of bowing down or breaking down, she was clever. She got on the Martin bandwagon and decided to make a photo event out of his long awaited return from America where he was studying with the best of the best o quanto pare. She taught his class a special dance and got them into costume so that at the end of the performance they all appear before him in a line desperately waving their chests with the letters taped to them that spell out Welcome back Martin. He sat on the stage like the adonis he is and just soaked it all in. Claudia called me today and told me that she was picking me up and bringing me to this lesson because it would win me points with the clients if I participated. I am happy I thought to ask someone to show me a couple of the steps before we went on in the dressing room. The real one, not the closet.

I was down in the bathroom when they took the group photo, but thank goodness I brought some behind the scenes shots. The others I'll steal for you from their official FB page. While I was jumping, and sweating, and gyrating to Martin's lesson and he was looking at himself in the mirror, Claudia was off pretending to get a drink. Afterwards she told me that she never takes anyone else's class because she doesn't want to get hurt. Pain is an alarm she told me. Oh thanks. Could you possibly have mentioned that to me forty five minutes ago before I pulled about thirty different muscles in my legs and shoulder? She's a smarty pants that Claudia. Come to think of it she only took fifteen minutes of my class the other day. Then at the end she reappears all refreshed and clapping and saying what a great class it was. I'm totally stealing that move. She is gong to do the Beyonce dance for her Fame class that I have been preparing all month in case they asked me to teach hip hop at the last minute, but I forgive her because she is possibly my one and only ally apart from the cook and nudist Nicholas.  Oh and she told me, as if I couldn't figure this out for myself, that she had an advantage because not only is she tall and naturally thin, but she was a fighter for many years and has a rock hard stomach. She also is charming and friendly to everyone and can chat her way out of a paper bag. I stood in the locker room hiding from my own beige photo which is every-fucking-where and now they are selling the tee shirt of it for various charities and it is in the club magazine that is delivered door to door throughout the city and said barely two words that made sense in Italian the whole two hours I was there. Sigh.

I love you, New York, but until you have experienced the fancy gym you don't know the meaning of: If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. I have a long way to go and still no tee shirt. I have to get more hours and soon. . . Or we are all going to get washed away in a wave of Martin. Claudia who teaches Zumba says she stopped doing all the jumps ages ago; it's bad for your knees she says. You don't say? I told you she was smart.

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