Aged Flesh - Zumba

Aged Flesh

Zumba class yesterday.

Now that I’m getting good enough to finally raise my eyes to the mirror, I find the image that greets me is not as enticing as it once was. For one, it doesn’t look like the same guy who took dance classes fifty years ago. Odd. The structure moves pretty much the same way as it once did, but the flesh seems to have a mind of its own.

Take, for example, the shimmy shake movement that takes place in every Latin American style dance class. Fifty years ago, even thirty years ago, my shoulders were the only thing that vacillated in this movement. Now, everything shakes. No, not shakes – shudders. Like Jell-O shortly before it sets. The funny thing is, my biceps are quite firm when I flex them, as are my thighs, and my pecs. But when I raise my arms to shoulder level and then shimmy my shoulders to and fro, an ample amount of flesh hanging from my upper arm began to flap like the wings of a trapped bird in a cage. Also, those firm tits I was once so proud of: with all the stretching a relaxing I’ve forced upon them in yoga, they now shake like the withered tits of an aged witch.

The inner side of my thighs also leave something to be desired, having a tendency now to jangle when I shake my ass, which I am glad I cannot see as it is certainly sagging worse than my face.

Not that I’m complaining. In fact, I am quite proud I can make it through the class without going into cardiac arrest, the fear that kept me away from dance classes for the past 20 years. Now that I have surmounted this fear, I feel I can take on the world fast movement again, return to the world of dance and treadmills, jog to catch the streetcar or bus. 

I just have to remember to keep my eyes shut in the vicinity of a mirror.