Editor’s note: This piece was originally published in a print-only magazine, YogaLife,” in the UAE.
Yes, that is me in the front row of the hip hop class on a Sunday morning, shaking it to Rihanna like my life depended on it. I jab my elbows out in sharp beats. I shake my finger to Take your shirt off. I slap both hands on the floor. LOUD. You would not have guessed from my appearance – a middle aged mother in worn out gym clothes, hair badly in need of new highlights – how ‘phat’ my moves are.
But you could say that about the other women in the front row, too.