I can’t believe I used to be embarrassed by this.

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For the first six months that I was a Jazzercise instructor, I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I wasn’t sure how my family and friends would react. I knew my loved ones would have questions, whether or not they gave voice to them:

• What is Jazzercise anyway? Isn’t that a fad from the 80s? The one with the legwarmers?
• Why aren’t you focused on getting a real job?
• You’re spastic, remember?
• You’re too fat to be a fitness instructor! (This was a variation on an old theme from my mother, who once claimed I was “too fat to faint.”)

Still, I’d known I wanted to get up on that stage from my very first class. The dance-fitness program’s combination of theatricality, fun, and physical intensity appealed to me. Regular classes had already improved my endurance, energy and fitness level. Instructors often commented on how I smiled through every class. It was obvious that I enjoyed the workout. With its endless variety of moves and super current music, I was never bored.

But I was ready for the next challenge.

I had been immersed in the world of nursing and diapers and mommy groups for five years after quitting my corporate job, and I was in no hurry to return to an office setting. With the kids in preschool and a husband supporting us, the timing seemed right. So after many, many weeks of testing and training, I finally became a Jazzercise franchisee.

Becoming an instructor was a form of reinvention for me, though not in ways I’d expected. I lost more weight and toned muscle, of course. But I also began to feel more graceful and walk with better posture. I smiled more than ever – on and off the stage. I gained confidence as a public speaker. I led my children in nightly dance parties. I gave myself permission to act goofy. I made lots of mistakes on stage in front of large groups of women. And as my customers forgave me, I learned to forgive myself. Perhaps most surprisingly, I began to see myself as a role model for my kids, my husband, and my customers.

Slowly I gained more confidence in my abilities, and began telling family and friends about Jazzercise. I corrected their ideas about legwarmers and leotards, and encouraged them to check out a class. But by the time I got around to sharing my news with family and friends, it no longer mattered what they thought of me. I was hooked.

Now, six years later, when I’m on that stage four times a week, I am still a version of my former self. That spastic, nerdy girl comes out when I occasionally flub a move, or when I make a geeky reference to Pi Day or Glee and I’m greeted by blank stares.

But I’m also a new, better version myself.

On that stage, I am a performer, a mentor, a sadist, a cheerleader, a therapist, a conspirator, a ringleader, a troublemaker, a choral director, a friend, and I’m the host of the hottest party in town. I’m good at what I do, and I’m thrilled to share it with others.

If I can make just one other person smile and sweat with me, I’ll have done my part in making the world a kinder, healthier place. How many people can say this about their jobs, or even their pastimes?

These days, I’m not so shy about telling people that I teach Jazzercise. It is not everything that I am or all that I do, but I hope it always will be a part of me. This version of myself – the confident, strong, flexible and charming Tammy that comes out on stage and occasionally spills over into the rest of my life – this is a version that I’m happy to keep around.

Why I Teach Dance

That's me on the right. Just kidding. Photo courtesy of Jazzercise.com

I’m a terrible dancer. That’s why I teach dance.

Or more specifically, that’s why I teach dance-fitness classes. Ask any of my students and they can confirm: I can barely count to eight (they often need to help me), I’m spastic with new moves, and generally I can perform accurate choreography about 65% of the time. But these same students consistently tell me that I’m a great instructor. And oddly enough, I believe them.

How did the instructor thing come to be, you may ask? It’s simple: music makes me move, and Jazzercise makes me happy. It was inevitable, really. I was hooked on the fun and intensity of the format starting with my first class way back in the 80’s. I knew early on that I wanted to become an instructor. I was sucked in by the drama (I get to teach on a stage), the rock-star element (I get to wear a microphone), and the variety of the moves and music. Most importantly, as an instructor, I get to learn all the moves before anybody else in the room knows them. And when I’m teaching, I’m always right. So if I’m performing the moves wrong, so are my students. But we're still sweating and having a great time, and nobody is the wiser -- unless there’s another instructor in the room.

But seriously, becoming a Jazzercise instructor was one of the best decisions of my life, and it has changed me in many ways. Physically, of course, I’m in better shape than ever, and I’ve been able to maintain a healthy body weight for several years. But more importantly, being a dance-fitness instructor has taught me how to perform in public, how to teach and even inspire others through word and example, and how to let myself be silly. It has taught me how to laugh at my mistakes and keep on moving. It has also taught me to appreciate many forms of music and many styles of dance.

Jazzercise has taught me the importance of creating a warm and supportive community with my students. And in return, the students have given me their trust, their friendship and many gallons of sweat. When that music starts, we know that together, we’re going to work hard, laugh a lot, and come out of class stronger than when we came in.

I feel privileged to be able to spend time with women (and a few men), who understand that life isn’t about getting everything perfect all the time. As cliché as it sounds, I believe that life really is about letting yourself experience the moment and also about not taking yourself too seriously. And that’s what we do when we dance together.

Dance-fitness is also about taking care of yourself so that you have the energy to take care of others. It’s about feeling good and alive within your own imperfect body. I’ve written before about dancing with seniors, and there’s plenty more to say about what I’ve learned from all my students – young and old. I also recognize the impact I’m having on my children when we dance together, and how my decision to make exercise a priority affects my entire family, but these are subjects for another day.

For today, I’m content to recognize how much teaching dance has taught me about how to be a better leader, a keener observer, a more attentive listener, and a more mindful participant in dance.

One of these days it may even teach me how to count out the beat.

(Inspired by MamaKat’s Writer’s Workshop. Check it out!)

When I Grow Up, I Want to Be A Senior Citizen

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…. But not just any senior citizen.  I want to be a senior who dances.

For the past several years, I have had the privilege of teaching a dance-fitness class to several women in their 60s, 70s and 80s. These women have shown me all the things I want to be:

• I want to be brave enough to face breast cancer head on – surviving chemo and radiation and mastectomy. I will feel weak and battered to the bone. And I will still get up and dance.
• I want to be patient enough to spend the night fielding 20 calls from my mother, who has dementia and constantly fears for her life. I will be worried and exhausted and frustrated. And I will still get up and dance.
• I want to be loving enough to care for my husband whose Alzheimer’s has progressed so far that he no longer remembers my name. I will consider and reject alternate living arrangements for the 100^th time. And I will still get up and dance.
• I want to be resilient enough to become a widow in my late 50s. I will feel empty and alone. And I will still get up and dance.
• I want to be strong enough to face arthritis, back trouble, torn muscles and weak knees. I will feel old. And I will still get up and dance.

You see, I’m not old yet, but I am aging. I have officially reached mid-life and I see what lies ahead.

I see what these women have been through. And I also see them light up on the dance floor. I see them shimmy and shake with abandon. I see them move their bodies as well as or better than the thirty-somethings dancing next to them. I see that being a senior comes with a certain amount of pain, but also with a certain amount of “f-you” privilege. For these women, dancing is not simply a way to keep in shape – it is defiance; it is freedom; it is community; it is pure joy.

These seniors dance because they still can. They dance because it sustains them. They dance because they know their lives depend on it.

I watch them dance, and I realize: that’s exactly what I want to be when I grow up.