I’m a follower. Always have been.

I made for an enthusiastic and dedicated employee, but only because  I had an editor breathing down my neck. As a freelancer? You cannot even begin to imagine the amount of total suckage that went into my lack of motivation.

Same goes with my exercise routine. When I’m, you know, Not Hormonal and Not Shoving Food That Makes My Cellulite Happy Down My Gullet. Not that that’s happening now, mind you. Just excuse me for a m oment while I wipe the sea salt from the potato chips off my fingers. *ahem*

But back to the exercise...Leah is always talking about finding our soulmate exercise; the one that never gets old, always gets us going, and has us smiling at the end of the workout no matter how difficult it was. For me, it’s a two-fer. I’m a brand new and dedicated yogi, but when it comes to what makes me smile and sweat?

That would be Zumba. I’m a first generation Mexican-American and grew up with rhythm coursing through my veins. Every wedding, every quincianera (Sweet 15), hell…even cleaning days at home with the Norteno music blaring in the background during my childhood proved my mood didn’t matter. Once the music started I had to move. And once I started moving, the smile would begin to spread across my face.

It still does. I might talk a good game of I Don’t Wanna and But My Cramps Are Pissing Me Off and You Expect Me to Move Right Now? But I know for a fact that if I just shut up and stuck one of the many Zumba DVD’s I own into the player (or fired up the Zumba Party on the PS3) I’d be all what cramps? in about five minutes. I’d merengue and salsa and cumbia and laugh when a certain step combination would make me remember skipping around the dance floor with cousins at any number of family weddings. I’d sweat and I’d move and I’d sweat and I’d dance and I’d sweat and I’d smile when buttercup would join up with me, moving her tiny little booty to the music.

I used to go to classes out here in the desert sticks. But I quit when the time commitment to drive to and back from the gym equaled more than the time I was actually spending, you know, zumba-ing. While I was still part of the class scene, though, I’d smile wistfully when one of the ladies in class would appear in full Zumba gear, proudly announcing she had become a certified Zumba instructor. One was a pastor’s wife and she did it solely to teach classes to the women at church.

I thought she was a adorable. I thought she was brave. And I wanted to do the same.

But I never have. I’ve been doing Zumba since Beto Perez could barely speak English and still have the first set of DVD’s that contain so little instruction anyone without the slightest bit of Latin dance experience can’t guess their way through the workout without first doing the beginner’s steps DVD. A LOT.  And ya know? I think I’m pretty good. But I’ve never felt confident enough to see myself in front of that miror, leading the class.

And I still don’t. But I have a new inspiration. Sue, my friend whom you might better know as Mrs. FatAss, recently double-whammied by not only starting Zumba but loving it so much that she immediately ran out, bought some glitter eye-shadow and a coin skirt, and got certified herself. Now? She’s teaching classes and renewing health promises to herself and having smiling through all of it.

That kind of kicks ass.

With a possible cross-country move right on the horizon, I can’t make any promises for the immediate future, but I can say this: Once I have the keys to my new house, wherever that may be, I’m finding a gym as close to home as I can and practicing with real, live people, and I’m going to get myself a pretty little Zumba Instructor certificate with my name on it.

What promises have you made to yourself? And what fears or insecurities have you had to overcome to make your promised goals a reality?