Don't Be Afraid to Wiggle

It seems oddly inappropriate to sensually shake your hips and gyrate across the carpet of a library, but its perfectly acceptable every Saturday morning at the Zumba class at the Westhampton Beach Public Library. Zumba seems to be the new craze consuming the fitness world, a fusion of Latin and international music that creates a dynamic, calorie-blasting aerobic workout.

Skeptical at first, considering my hips don’t lie about my inability to hold any sort of rhythm, Zumba seemed like a class only suitable for those with dance experience or those with behinds that shake like Beyonce's. One of the waiters I work with is part time server, part time Zumba instructor and is always spinning me around the kitchen trying to convince me to take his class. I know he would be a fabulous teacher but Southampton is a hike and a half from Remsenburg especially if it’s just to go make a fool out of myself.

After perusing the library shelves for movies to soak up some of our free time, Mariela informed me her mother had signed her and herself up for a Zumba class that was only 30 dollars for 8 classes, which is such a steal especially in the Hamptons. I inferred, secretly hoping the class was full, but there were two spots left. One for me, one for my mother, sign me up!

So Saturday morning rolls around and I tear myself out of sweet slumber, throw on workout clothes, and inhale a Chobani Pineapple Greek Yogurt as we run out the door to our first class.

Checking in at the door, there was a wide array of women stretching in front of me; working moms, aged hippies, twenty-somethings to sixty-somethings, overweight and those with a negative BMI. The carpeted room was not nearly large enough to hold this Zumba army. I guess you didn’t have to be a young, fit, and Latina to partake in a Zumba. Taking a spot in the back of the room, I tried to maneuver my eyesight beyond brunette, blond and bald alike to focus on the extremely enthusiastic woman wearing the trademark squiggle on her neon tank top. 

As the music filled the small room, the instructor started with simple moves, tapping your toes, lifting your knees, nothing too complex. The class is a monkey see monkey do technique, stringing together dances steps, high kicks, arm movements and booty shakes, all in sync with the beats flowing from the stereo in the front of the room. It’s such a different experience then going to the gym and running on the treadmill until your legs feel like jelly or spending days in the weight room repetitively lifting and lowering those black rectangular blocks. It was invigorating, constantly changing and just plain fun. And I wasn’t the worst one in the room!

As we rapidly grapevined across the room to Nagila Hava and swiftly shook what all our mama’s gave us to tribal sounding African sounds, sweat surged from every pore my body possessed. Half way through, my shirt was clinging to my collar bone for dear life. My socks began to feel like I had taken them out of the washer before the spin cycle and my hair was wetter than when I get out of the shower. As your body undulates to the thumping and pulsing rhythms, the instructor reminds you: “Don’t be afraid to wiggle ladies!” Her bottom half looked like it was unattached, convulsing like it had it's own spine, its own mind. She was a prime wiggler.

After one of the best workouts of my life for basically $3.75, my mother and I walked back to our car and were distracted by the tops of white tents speckling the Village Green & Gazebo at the beginning of town. The Chamber of Commerce Arts & Crafts show graced the vibrant green lawn, showcasing artisans and vendors selling handcrafted art. There’s everything from stained glass and sculptures to wood furnishing, jewelry and metal work. I fell in love with a necklace made out of silk string and a gorgeous gold ring with turquoise gems.

Besides the breathtaking watercolors and interesting fiber work, the people that attend these shows are entertaining. It’s early enough in autumn that the weekends still create a rustle in the Hamptons, especially on a holiday weekend. From pooches in purses sporting Burberry jackets to burnt old ladies swiping their credit cards so frequently they're probably hotter then the temperature outside; the people are a separate show on their own.

Post-craft show, we continued down Mill Road to another Chamber of Commerce sponsored occasion, this one being weekly: the Westhampton Beach Farmers Market. Every Saturday morning from early April to mid December, the concrete parking lot behind the Fire House transforms into a sensory nirvana.  My best advice for attending this flavorful event is don’t come starving or with your credit card because you will definitely want to spend every last penny you own supporting the local famers. From Fat Ass Fudge to The Apotheca, the Farmer’s Market has enough products to satisfy any interest. Cheesecakes, homemade truffles, locally caught seafood, pickles, gluten-free potato chips, jams, jellies, flowers and more, all invite you to taste test and purchase.

We went to get tomatoes…just tomatoes. We left with raviolis, a homemade foccacia with roasted tomatoes and caramelized onions, fresh lavender and some vegetable I can’t pronounce that is in the broccoli family. On the way home, we realized we never got the tomatoes.