Friday afternoon. the YMCA was packed. At 48, I felt out of place in the sea of twentysomethings working out. I had no intention of joining them. I couldn’t remember the last time I exercised! I was only here to cancel my younger son’s membership.
“He’s off to college next month, so he won’t be around,” I told the trainer at the front desk.
“Let me get the paperwork for you,” she said.
I wasn’t sure I was ready for my husband, Thomas, and me to have an empty nest. After 25 years of marriage, we still adored each other, yet our lives had revolved around our two sons for so long that the sparks that once flew between us were just embers now.
Besides, when we weren’t working—I was a college professor, Thomas was the director of the research institute at the state health department—we were busy helping my mother, who was recovering from a stroke, or visiting Thomas’s father at the veterans’ care center with his mother.
Honestly, we could’ve used some stress relief. Like exercise, which was what we’d bonded over when we met in grad school. I had run track in high school, Thomas played basketball, and our dates usually involved getting moving together.
Long walks. Bike rides. Dancing. We could always liven up the dance floor, get any party started.
Even after we married and our boys came along, Thomas and I carved out time to stay fit together. Then, two years ago, Thomas tore up his knee playing basketball. Ever since, we’d both taken it easy on exercise…too easy.
We weren’t into fast food (I’m a vegetarian, and Thomas doesn’t eat red meat), but we’d have big portions or go for an all-you-can-eat brunch after church. And sweets! After a long week, we’d sink into the couch Friday night—and into a tub of ice cream.
No wonder we’d both started to look like the couch. My cholesterol shot up and I needed medication. Thomas had high blood pressure. I knew we needed to make a change, but how?
The Y’s schedule caught my eye. Zumba at 6:00 p.m., Zumba at 8:00 p.m., it read. “What is Zumba?” I asked the trainer when she returned with the forms.
“It’s a high-energy dance-and-fitness class,” she said. “It’s a lot of fun. Check it out!” She pointed to a class where a dozen women swayed in unison to a samba. It’s been a long time since I moved like that, I thought.
“Beginner’s Zumba is tomorrow afternoon,” she said. “You should come.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I did, the whole drive home.
“While I was at the Y, I saw this thing called Zumba,” I told Thomas. “It’s a mix of dancing and cardio. There’s a class tomorrow. Want to come with me?”
“Zumba? Isn’t that for ladies?”
The class I’d peeked in on was all women, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. “Remember the fun we used to have dancing at weddings?”
Thomas shrugged. “Gyms aren’t my thing,” he said. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. I got this.” What he had was a can of salted peanuts. He popped the top. End of discussion.
Fine. I went to the beginner’s Zumba class by myself the next day, almost as if a little voice whispered that I’d be sorry if I didn’t.
“Ready to Zumba?” the instructor shouted over a catchy Latin beat. “Five, six, arms up and kick!” I mimicked her moves. My knees cracked. My calves burned. I breathed hard. But after the first song, I got into a groove.
Our empty-nest blues, our health, our parents—all my worries fell away in a rush of Zumba energy. It was like a door into a whole new part of my life.
Zumba gave me something to focus on after the boys left for college. In a month, I dropped 10 pounds. I showed off some of the moves for Thomas one Saturday night. Maybe I could entice him into doing Zumba with me. “You look great,” he said. “But it’s not for me.”
That’s when my next move came to me: prayer. All my prayers had been focused on our boys and our parents. Somehow I hadn’t prayed for us. Lord, you’ve given me the chance to get healthy, to feel great. I want that for Thomas too. I want us to grow old together. Help me to get him moving again.
Eight months later, I was at Zumba, totally in the zone. As I kicked my left leg, I noticed a pair of men’s dress shoes in the doorway. They looked familiar. I glanced up. I know those khakis, I thought. And that oxford shirt.
There was Thomas, in work clothes. Had something happened to one of our parents? I relaxed when I saw his foot tapping to the beat. Why was he here?
“Come join us!” the instructor called. Thomas shook his head. I felt his gaze on me. Our eyes met. He gave me a slow smile. I smiled back, my cheeks flushing. Fifteen minutes later, he waved and left. “I wish my husband looked at me like that,” one of the ladies said to me.
“It was good to see you,” I told Thomas later.
“I just wanted to see what Zumba was all about,” he said, his tone nonchalant. I didn’t push.
Thomas showed up at my next class. The following one too. Each time, he watched from the sidelines. I have to admit, his admiring gaze made me put extra zing in my moves. Sometimes I felt like I was dancing just for him.
The class after that, I looked to the doorway. No Thomas. The music started and there was a tap on my shoulder.
Thomas…in workout clothes!
I threw my arms around him. Everyone applauded.
From all that watching, Thomas knew the routines. He didn’t miss a step, showing off his silky smooth moves. The ladies were impressed. Me most of all.
Back home, though, I played it cool. I didn’t want to scare him off. “Thanks for coming tonight,” I said. “Did you have fun?”
“I did,” he admitted. “Working up a sweat helped worked off my stress. I feel great!”
“What have I been trying to tell you?” I said, laughing.
“There’s something else,” he said. “I love how you move. You’re really good.”
This time when our eyes met, sparks flew. And they’ve been flying between us ever since.
We’re so into Zumba now that we teach classes together. I’ve lost 40 pounds and Thomas has lost 55. I don’t need my cholesterol medicine anymore. We take better care of our parents now that we’re taking care of ourselves.
God didn’t just get us moving again, he got us moving even closer together. Why else would every night feel like date night?
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