Once participants had assembled (their seemingly un-hip, un-hop appearances assured me that I would fit in), the instructor, silently and without preamble, launched the class into a spirited dance warmup. And by "spirited," I mean serious. Coordinated, practiced, actually dancing, shit you see on TV, warmup. I hobbled in circles in the back of the room like Quasimodo.
The rest of the class continued in the same fashion, through Crunch Barrage and Complicated Choreography, with everyone (including the un-hip appearing folks I mentioned earlier) replicating the instructor's movements and demonstrations with astounding kinesthetic acuity. Not knowing any better than to see the whole hour through, I stupidly flailed about for the rest of the class. Even glimpsing my own gangly figure in the mirror (looking especially ridiculous from the attempts at dancing) wasn't enough to convince me to leave, thinking the situation would somehow improve.
The hour eventually ended. The instructor avoided me, perhaps from embarrassment or irritation. I scurried away to the locker room, cursing the online description of the class being "for all levels" and "open to non-dancers." The moral of the story is: Next Time, Just Freaking Email The Instructor And Ask First.
Well, the lure of learning how to "break it down" and "rip it up" still hasn't subsided, and they failed to fully convince me that I don't have what it takes to declare Dance Battle on someone someday (my true aspiration). Maybe I'll go back next week.
