First off, I would like to announce that yesterday, I completed my longest run to date: 7 miles. In the interest of full disclosure, I should confess I ran/walked the last two miles, but I still kept up the pace, so suck on it. I am especially proud because my training app shut down twice, and my music went out and I still logged the miles like a boss. Ironically, I ran better without the music than with it; I think going from saying my personal mantra (“Run easy, finish strong”) to the Hail Mary to the Our Father over and over again helped set the pace better than Pitbull.
The training plan I’m on throws in days of strength training in addition to days of running. On the strength training days I usually switch between doing a workout DVD or workouts found on YouTube to mix things up and keep it interesting. A few weeks ago, I found a workout on YouTube called something Groovin’ something something (don’t remember the actual title) that piqued my interest, so I clicked on it. As soon as it began playing, I realized it was a hip-hop cardio workout, but I kept with it because learning some sweet dance skillz totally pwned free weights.
Aside from country line-dancing, the Electric Slide, and basic basic salsa, I cannot dance. I am the embodiment of the stereotypical white person: two left feet and not one, teeny, tiny ounce of rhythm. However, I was gifted with the ability to not give a shit and a delusion that one day enough practice will magically turn me into Julia Styles from Save the Last Dance, so in pretty much all social situations involving dancing, I am out on the floor making a shameless fool of myself. It only gets
better worse after I’ve had a few drinks.
So this hip-hop dance workout was right up my alley. And, bonus–since it was just me in my apartment with nobody but my dog watching (and she wasn’t going to talk!) I could really let loose. I could harness my inner sex kitten and throw it all into the dance. Which is exactly what I did.
“Flip your hair!” the workout instructor urged. “Don’t be afraid to get a little sexy with it!”
I flipped. I twirled. I gyrated. The longer I did the workout, the easier the moves came, and pretty soon I felt like I was a moving ball of pure sex, all energy and seduction, like Christina Aguilera in “Dirty.” I went to bed that night congratulating myself on kicking that workout in the pants and even considered showing off my sweet new moves the next time I was out dancing.
The next day I couldn’t figure out why the hell my neck was so sore. I figured I slept on it wrong, but then it hit me as my office-mates and I were getting ready to leave for the day:
“Guys,” I said, “I figured out why my neck is hurting so much. I pulled it while doing a hip-hop dance workout last night.”
I know now I wasn’t the dancing seductress I fancied myself to be. Dancing seductresses don’t flip their hair so hard they pull their necks. Guess who does?
I am an Elaine. I now accept this.