Ella quiere su rumba (¿Como?)

I’ve had high cholesterol for years. Just one of those things that I lost the genetic lottery on. I eat a high fiber, low fat, almost devoid of any type of cholesterol or trans fat whatsoever diet and at my latest check up I found out that my cholesterol has actually gone up slightly since the last time I had gotten it checked. So, I started doing some digging and found out that diet may not be as effective in controlling high cholesterol as exercise, particularly regular, medium to high-intensity cardiovascular exercise. That probably would have been a helpful tidbit for my doctor to have given me, but maybe they’re not up-to-date on all the latest research from 1998. That’s okay.

The point is that I’ve gotta start working out more. I hate running. I’m not really sure I want to shell out the cash for a gym membership just yet. Probably a good idea eventually. My immediate solution: Zumba. Everyone raves about it and at $10 a pop, not a bad option for a commitment-phobe in need of a quick cardio fix. From what little I knew about Zumba before showing up to my first class the other day, admittedly almost zilch, I was pretty excited. Dancing has always been a preferred activity of mine over anything that I would call exercising.

What I hadn’t really counted on was the uncomfortability level. It slowly became apparent: three young, suburban, white (read: anglo) women teaching a room full of mostly middle-aged; black, brown and other white women bachata, hip-hop and other latino/afro-american (in the continent sense of the term) inspired moves. I can’t say that I definitively walked away with a sense of how I felt about it. On the one hand, anything that promotes non-white and/or non-US artists, potentially increasing their exposure and albums sales is great. This room full of women leading healthier lives, also great. What I’m assuming are primarily white women profiting off of the art and culture of non-white artists, eh, less than great.

And the ultimate truth that remained obfuscated by the racial, ethnic and national heterogeneity of my particular location-- and again, I’m assuming here-- that these classes are primarily being taught TO white women, white women who are imagining some exotic latin lover type, Henry Churches with a rose in his mouth. That one just about made me shiver out of distaste. I always hate when people see Cris that way. When they assume he’s romantic, passionate or a good dancer because of where he’s from rather than who he is. I suppose that there are a million stereotypes of Latino men that people don’t readily apply to him because of his association to me, or at least not out loud anyway. I think I’ll keep going to Zumba class. I’ll just have a lot to think about while I shimmy my LDLs off.