Retrospective: Four years after

My last normal Zumba class was on March 14, 2020. Then, of course, the gyms shut down. Even before we knew the new virus was airborne, Zumba classes in South Korea were an early case study about its rapid spread in a workout context. Suffice it to say, I knew almost immediately that I wouldn’t be back to teaching in two weeks, or two months, or within the year. Though I didn’t lose anyone dear, the grief I felt for the changes in my own life was almost exclusively because of not having Zumba anymore.

I’m immunocompromised. As in, to manage my Crohn’s disease, I get an IV infusion of an immunosuppressant medication every eight weeks. Even if that weren’t the case, I have really enjoyed not getting any contagious illnesses since this pandemic began. As a global community we have learned a lot, and until the time comes when there’s a more reliable infrastructure for clean air in public spaces, I don’t intend to stop wearing a high-quality N95 mask.

This left me in a bit of a quandary. How could I get Zumba back into my life safely?

I recorded a solo class outdoors in late 2020 as a birthday gift for a friend. I attended a virtual class in my apartment and felt lonely and sad the whole time. I taught a few classes, mostly outdoors but one indoors masked, at an assisted living mental health facility in 2022. I led a single song at the 2023 Pink Warrior PDX event. To try to find physical joy I took walks on occasion (too boring), did Pilates (too cerebral), took an aerials class (way too hard). All the while I continued paying the fees for my Zumba license, group exercise and CPR certifications, and liability insurance, just waiting for some kind of sign that it was okay to return to teaching.

As is usually the case in my life, a sign didn’t come. I simply made a decision, right after the new year: I’d find an outdoor venue at which to teach, I’d come back in a mask, or I’d stop paying all those fees. No matter what, I’d be out of this excruciating years-long holding pattern.

I’m actually pretty efficient at taking action after I’ve decided something. I rapidly researched outdoor possibilities until I hit too many logistical and financial walls. Then I pivoted to researching mask options. I hadn’t liked teaching in a mask during that class in 2022; it almost felt like I had a paper bag on my head, so much was my instruction experience impeded. Turns out I make a lot of facial expressions when I teach! That left transparent masks as a potential avenue. And the options were…exceptionally limited. Can nobody make a transparent mask that looks cool? Come on!

Ultimately I ended up deciding to try an OmniMask, which kind of looks like a transparent gas mask, and hope that people wouldn’t hate me for making them look at me while I looked weird. It’s perhaps a small taste of what those with a more visible disability might experience day to day, except it’s (for some reason) also weirdly extra politicized. This was a new and strange anxiety; after eight years of teaching in all kinds of scenarios, I really didn’t get nervous anymore to be literally or figuratively onstage in a spotlight. But teaching while looking weird? That took a lot of support from family and friends to start working through.

I filled out some applications, sent some interest letters. I was rehired at the Clark County Family YMCA, in a substitute position to start, and led my first classes there in February. Attendees there can expect me to sub relatively frequently, typically 1-4 times a month. And, thrillingly, I’ve adopted a long-running free community class in Portland, which was left in limbo after their previous dedicated instructor relocated to Florida at the end of last year.

The discomfort of knowing my breathing sounds like Darth Vader and people are watching me while I look weird will certainly continue to fade with each class I teach, and I can say that right now, for me, it’s worth it. Zumba makes me feel buoyant, effervescent. And seeing people have fun, seeing them nail a tricky move, or knowing that the class is a valuable escape for them is deeply rewarding.

I’m glad to be back.