Shake what ya mama gave ya....

Never thought I'd find myself in a room full of sweaty women, shaking my tush with all my might. But here I am. At a zumba class. And I'm loving it. I'm hooked. If you haven't had the pleasure yet, here's why...

There was a time I used to go to the gym three times a day. Past tense. Whole 'nother blog. Last year I paid a monthly fee for a shiny membership card. Didn't go inside once. Something needed to change.

With nervous trepidation, I signed up to my first zumba class. What to wear? Could I manage it? Would they laugh?  Needn't have worried; I was met with friendly faces and a warm welcome. And nobody laughed at my outfit. Always a bonus.

Everyone thinks they can dance. Normally, I'm a shimmying mix between Ginger Rogers and Beyonce.  But it takes half a bottle of vodka to get there.  But I thought I'd be semi-ok.  I also thought I knew my right and left before zumba. Seems I didn't. As the dulcet tones of Ricky Martin started, my co-ordination ended.  "Single, single, double" was an instruction too far.

Fast forward a few months, and you'll find me actually keeping in rhythm.  Knowing which way to shuffle. Attempting to shimmy. Mastering the art of the body-roll might take a while longer.

The lovely women in the class are my zumba-buddies now. We're all perspiring together. No judging, just smiling. Which in a predominately female environment is wonderful, albeit rare.  I think it's all down to our instructor. I hope she knows just how inspirational she is. It doesn't matter when I fluff a move, or when my toes just won't fit into my hand; she continues to support and encourage us as a true mentor should.  I look forward to my Sunday class as much as my Sunday roast, which tastes that much nicer knowing how many calories I've just burnt. The Mad Fitness Crew's classes can be found at http://www.madfitnesscrew.com/default.html

The thing about zumba is that it just doesn't feel like a traditional gym workout. No counting down the reps, no willing the minutes away and no manky showers. You can see the results week-by-week. Does wonders for your posture, weight loss and confidence.

It feels like dancing with your mates in a club. Now that I CAN do.

And the award goes to...

Were you a winner in 2011? I'm reminiscing on the evenings spent at industry awards last year. Oh what fun some of us had...

Funny things, award do's. The nervous anticipation of a nominee. The highly-visible anxiety of a nominee with a client in tow. The smug dead-certs. The “couldn’t care less, no, honestly, really” of the peeps sans nominations.

Much of the fun of awards is spotting the “characters”. I always seem to get stuck next to the “My wife doesn’t understand me”. I’m normally stalked by the “NFI”, seeking their after-party invite. I try to avoid the “I’ll drink my allocated half-bottle of wine as quickly as I possibly can, cause I didn’t get nominated”. Normally end up commiserating with them later.

I’m remembering some great nights out with my mates now.

The night where we won five on the trot. Our feigned embarrassment of having to go up to the stage yet again. Industry recognition of fantastic work, carried out by a strong team, with a happy client. Nice night.

Another happy night when we won Best Public Sector/Government Title. 3am found us at Bar Italia, doing the fandango. Fun night.

The lock-in at a Sarf London pub. Desperate for “one more for the road”, I took up the landlord’s challenge. If I could tell a joke which he’d laugh at, I could pull my own pints for as long as I liked. Bosh!

And my awardmances. High and low points. Was seated next to a nice chap one year, who’d just won an award for his marketing work on a customer magazine. He shall remain nameless. Seemed a nice guy. He had a certain je-ne-sais-quoi. I liked the way he extended his brand. Conversation flowed (as did the drink) and we arranged to meet up the following week. The evening went well, he paid for the meal and I was a happy bunny.

Wasn’t so happy when I bumped into a mutual friend the following week. Asking after said “new friend”, found out that all was well in his world as his wife had just given birth to their first child. Wife. Child. Epic fail. Phoned him to tell him exactly where he could stick his trophy.

Higher success rating when a burgeoning office romance was unveiled at an awards do. Poor man had no choice but to marry me after that.

And the highlight moment of the 2011's awards? Being invited to two very different kind of clubs for the after-party. Both designed for men, if you catch my drift. I politely declined and headed home at a very respectable hour. A first, being home before 3am. I should give myself an award...