Zumba Classes Won’t Replace My Friends
But they’ll fill the gap until we’re ready to meet again
The Zumba class is held in a primary school hall.
As I enter, the familiar smell of old parquet and gymnastics mats hits my nose. It must be a uniform stench. Four decades ago, my school smelled the same.
“Hi,” I say, barely audible as I walk past a large group of women, and I smile to soften my initial awkwardness, an outsider, not yet familiar with the dynamics.
They must be regulars by the look of their body language, chatting and laughing with ease.
I plop my bag on a bench, tie my hair into a ponytail, and inspect the wonky drawings affixed to a wooden noticeboard.
They remind me of us, like the Three Musketeers, three friends who met during a time when we needed each other the most. Three exhausted mums, glad to have found each other and have coffee at mine or theirs while the kids played in the room next door.
The noise in the hall intensifies as more and more are joining. Some are on their own, looking embarrassed, like they regretted to have ever paid for the class, but they’re too shy to leave now.
“Hey ladies,” Sara, the instructor suddenly shouts, to my relief. “Are you ready to rock & roll?” she’s working on connecting her iPod to the speaker.
I feel a buzz of excitement in anticipation of the Latin tunes, just like I did at a high school Lambada competition all those years ago, which my friend and I won.
Drum beats fill the room within seconds.
I haven’t seen my friends in weeks, one of them longer. “Legal issues after the passing of the in-law,” she says. It’s been four months now.
I think back to the old times and can’t help but reminisce about our well-oiled routine: coffee meet-ups and walks in the field every few weeks.
Initially, with our kids, enjoying the outdoors while steering clear of the cows. Later, just the three of us, once the children turned into teens.
Things have changed, life has evolved, and before I blinked, the friendships I took for granted have started to wobble around the edges.
“I won’t make it for a while, Ana” Becky says when she calls. “We’ve got so much to sort at the moment with lawyers, etc.” she sounds tired like she’s dealing with more than grief itself.
I understand this isn’t the time to be impatient.
It feels good, oh so good to move to the music.
I step to the right, then to the left, roll my hip, and cha-cha-cha. My body takes over, and my legs follow the rhythm.
Sara loses me halfway through, as my moves are delayed, and I mess up the steps. But I don’t mind as my shoulders feel lighter, and I’m able to breathe.
What should one do when they reach middle age and their friendships start to fade — when the circle of people they trust begins to shrink? It’s not like we’re kids anymore when sharing our spade was the way to make friends when building sandcastles entertained us for hours.
Conversing as adults takes more of an effort. Building trust takes time.
But effort isn’t the problem. It’s the rest that concerns me. Time constraints, family commitments, kids, work, aging parents to look after.
Tidbits of life that women of my age deal with daily.
My son is almost a young adult, and I’m reclaiming my life. No more homework to soldier through or sleepovers to host. Yet, the extra time I dreamed of years ago — this irreplaceable currency we have — is only going to waste.
I spot a lady in the front row, perhaps in her seventies. Her movements are graceful, and she has a perpetual smile on her face.
She reminds me of an article I read some time ago. It said loneliness hits the elderly the hardest. The least fortunate, without a family, can go for months only talking to the postman.
That would break me, I know, relying on daytime TV or a cat for company, waiting for the postman to ring the bell or the next series of “Homes Under The Hammer” on BBC One.
When does it even begin?
The gradual isolation from human connection, the diminishing of the support network we need so much.
Perhaps loneliness isn’t a phenomenon that only affects the old and frail.
I look around, and everyone beams with a healthy glow as we sway, squat, hip-roll, and rumba.
No one mocks you for turning the wrong way or missing a beat. It feels like a speckle of community brought together by a simple interest:
to keep fit and do so in good company.
Later, as we slow down and take big breaths, it dawns on me: a fitness class isn’t just a way to get in your gym gear and exercise. It goes beyond the dopamine, oxygen, and serotonin rush your body produces during a mighty workout. It’s an opportunity to connect, socialize, and feel less alone.
It gives you a chance to widen your circle and gain new acquaintances.
Sara comes up to me at the end of the class, “how did you like it?” she asks, still panting, with a bottle of water in hand.
“Fab,” I pant back without mentioning the number of times I lifted the wrong leg. “Can’t wait to do this all over again.”
And I mean it.
My heart rate is still up, and I’m sweaty under the jumper I just put on. But my body is energized, and I feel serene, just like the lady in the front row.
Meeting new people in our forties can be trickier than ever before. No more chatting with mums on the school grounds or serving cake at birthday parties.
But there’s a way to get out of our shell, however uncomfortable that might make us feel.
Zumba classes will never replace my friends, but they’ll fill the gap until we’re ready to meet up again.
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this piece, you might like this one here:
Sign up here to receive our free weekly newsletter featuring the best of Crow’s Feet.
