ZUMBA: Often described as a “fitness party,” Zumba includes fast but easy moves that will allow you to achieve long term goals while having fun! This unique and popular fusion of Latin rhythms and easy-to-follow dance movements creates a dynamic and fun aerobic fitness experience.

I’ve just returned from a trek to Yale Health—really the most exercise I’ve gotten all semester—when I decide it’s a good idea to attend an evening Zumba class.

Disregarding my just-diagnosed sinus infection, I walk into the class and immediately size up the competition (because, let’s be honest, all dance aerobic classes are, at their core, competitions). The girls in the front clearly know what they’re doing. I instantly resent them. In the back are a bunch of elderly women and one man who looks very confused.

The instructor struts out, swears she’ll make this class easy for all the beginners, and turns on some salsa music. We’re off. My reflection is blocked by one of the front-row dancer girls, so in my mind I’m basically Shakira 2.0.

Then the instructor announces that we’re done stretching. I start to get nervous. I was actually breaking a sweat from those “stretches.” The instructor changes the music to a loud Spanish version of “Jump Around.” Now I’m straight up panicking. The girl in front of me shifts slightly. Now I can see myself in the mirror. I am not Shakira.

The basic moves turn into a fast “Merengue March.” I try to keep up, but I realize I am marching the wrong way. I start to march the other way, and am overcome with a fit of coughs. Not girly coughs either, but room-shaking, this-girl-clearly-has-a-sinus-infection coughs. I try to recuperate, but everyone’s jumping. I join in, but jump wrong. Cough even more. Back to the Merengue. Cough again.

I glance back to check on the older women, trying to convince myself I can’t be the worst dancer in the room. To my horror, they are literally killing it. Throwing just as much sass as the instructor, if not more. We start salsaing again and I look back at the girls in front of me. They are also killing it. They’re the worst. All of them are the worst.

The class goes on, with me coughing like a 90 year-old smoker and everyone else out-Merengueing me. My roommate tries to convince me I wasn’t that bad, but I know the truth. As we walk out the room I hear the very confused-looking man ask, “This was SoulCycle, right?” I begin to laugh, but it comes out as a bunch of coughs. I leave feeling relieved that I was not the most confused person there.

Graphic by Zachary Schiller