She’s real.
I found her, the other night. At the gym.
Maybe it was the way her black-spandexed- self moved to the beat effortlessly.
Maybe it was the fact that her thighs didn’t touch, her stomach was flat and her arms were toned.
Maybe it was her long shiny hair and her who-cares-if-its winter-I-have-bronzed-skin-year-round skin.
Maybe it was her perfect white teeth and the way her accent rolled out like a melody.
This woman moved like Shakira and looked like J-Lo and yelled like Gloria.
It was about 5 seconds into the AzuRitmo cardio Latin dance class that I realized…this woman who developed and teaches this class…standing in front, speaking into her headset, swaying and shaking like a pro…
she is me.
Let me ‘splain.
She is me in my mind's eye. When I’m dancing in my kitchen, attempting salsa, la cumbia, or just general hip-shaking, I imagine that I’m dancing like that. I feel myself moving and I think that is what I look like.
It was only when I decided to brave the embarrassment of shakin’ my stuff in front of 30+ people for the sake of sweating off some lbs, that reality came crashing down right along with my thunder-thighs stomping on the hardwood.
When I dared take my eyes off of her hips, (believe me, miss a beat and you’re totally lost), I looked in those floor-to-ceiling mirrors and spotted myself (my real self) and was surprised and appalled. I thought I was a decently good dancer. I thought I was pretty coordinated. I thought I was (relatively) fit. I thought I was…tan? Hispanic? Skinny?
Ok, I’m not in complete denial about my true identity, I promise. I don’t know what I thought…but I expected my image to match hers a little more closely. After all, she is me in my mind’s eye, right?
Apparently my mind’s eye needs glasses.
Because what I saw next to her in that unforgivingly-humongous mirror was a large white blob with a little rhythm and way too much jiggle.
But boy, did I have fun!
That music makes me move. I can’t physically hear it and stand still.
I think I'll go again.
Also-I will never put a mirror in my kitchen.
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