snow + zumba

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I am so ready for Spring that I have become addicted to weather reports. I have three apps on my iphone, numerous bookmarked sites and I flick through the weather channels more often than I check facebook! I'm convincing myself that Spring really is on the way. Even as the gale howls outside, I'm itching to reach for my white jeans and paint my toes Cancun Fiesta*.
As I stare at the snow on the hills behind our house, I have decided that I cannot 'do' snow anymore. It's fun in the beginning, but trudging up a 3km road with shopping, two dogs and a husband who wants to go off-piste is not amusing.
“I can't go any further, I'm exhausted.” I moaned.
“We'll be fine, only another 2km to go. Let's take the shortcut and go over the field. ”
Too tired to argue, I followed dutifully behind my husband. Knee deep in snow, I kept my eyes firmly on my feet. The next thing I knew, I went head first into a two meter snow drift which knocked me over and sent the contents of the shopping spilling down a steep ridge. I can't repeat what happened next. Let's just say 'I'm seeing a lawyer' and 'laughing like that will hopefully give you a heart attack' were interjected with some rather choice expletives.
The only good thing to come out of the situation was that I didn't lose my bottle of nicely chilled Prosecco - nicely chilled because it was -10!!!
By the time we reached base camp (home) an hour later, we were both exhausted. The only thing that was keeping me going was the thought of a warm bath.
“The boiler won't light. Do you know how to switch it on?”
“What?” I shouted, fearing the worst.
“I think we've run out of gas”.
And sure enough, for the next two days we had no heating, no hot water and no stove top. Eventually the snowplough cleared the road and the gas company was able to fill our tank.
Hence you understand why I can no longer 'do' Winter.
So as Spring is on my mind, I've been thinking... it's not all about budding almond trees and baby wild boar. It's also about squeezing into skinny jeans and pinching an inch as your muffin top distorts your graphic tee. So in a vain attempt to become bikini ready for Summer (I do live in Italy after all), I have joined a Zumba class at the local gym. I was terrified at first and tiptoed into the back of the class. Then Wilson, the instructor, cranked up his Brazilian beat and well, the rest is history. No I haven't run off with Wilson and I won't be getting my thong out anytime soon but it made me feel exhilarated.
But the best thing is, as I shimmy around the kitchen and embarrass my children with the odd '. . . pra caramba!', thoughts of damp snow boots and washing in cold water are a thing of the past!



* OPI nail polish!

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