I am not a particularly sporty person. I wouldn’t get picked last for sports teams at school, but definitely wouldn’t get picked first either. I just don’t particularly care that much about it. I also have terribly low motivation when I am faced with moving my limbs.

Over summer my mum would drag me out in the morning to take our dog for a run. The main reason why I would go was because my sister would laugh at me as I’m so not the kind of person to go on morning runs each day. I had to prove her wrong. It was a matter of principles.

But there is no one here I feel compelled enough to prove wrong. My classes are also way too early to have time to go running in the morning but that’s a whole other issue.

However I was dragged to Zumba which was… an experience. I had used the excuse of my ‘broken’ ankle for couple of weeks to avoid going when the other girls would.  But sadly that is no longer an option. (It wasn’t even that bad to begin with – I was surprised I got away with it for so long). Therefore last week I was forced to go Zumba, partly out of guilt of constantly refusing them but also due to the brownie I had for dinner which was one indulgence too far.

I was terrible. Everyone in the class had been going for a couple of weeks, so knew the dances already, and obviously I didn’t. I’m also horribly uncoordinated so even the simplest steps pushed my brain into overdrive while attempting to follow where my feet and arms should be. It was definitely more stressful than the haunted house and required more concentration than my midterm exams. The instructor would sidestep to the left, but I’d trip to the right. Everyone else would be shaking their hips as I continued to try and work out how to properly twist my arms for the previous move. What made it worse was that there was a great big mirror facing us so I could see just how awkward I was, causing me to relive the awful nightmares of ballet lessons when I was younger.

After a while I got used to it  – the moves were often repeated and a couple like the bunny hop. I’ve decided I am totally breaking out in the clubs once I’m back in England. We currently have two other moves called the jellyfish and the praying mantis –it’s good to keep the animal theme going. I’m not going to describe how they work – I think it’s pretty self-explanatory and basically involves going absolutely crazy on a cocktail of good music, not caring and a little bit of cheap vodka.

You may love it or hate it but ‘Shake it off’ by Taylor Swift would totally be a good song to exercise to. There is an 80s aerobics video played alongside the song on youtube that proves just how genius this is. I could just shake it off when I get something wrong or simply make the moves up as I go.

Is it weird that “Shake it off” is becoming a way of life for me? Its poppy, mass produced and by Taylor Swift but I can’t get enough of it. For someone like me who does at least one embarrassing thing a day (or hour) it works like therapy teaching me to laugh at the fact that I tripped over my own feet or to stop obsessively wondering if I offended that person I will never, ever see again in Hope by accidentally letting the door close on them.

Some things like Zumba are literally hell on earth if you perceive them to be that way. It’s a mixture of all the things I hate – dancing to awful dance music sober, in front of a mirror with very bright lights surround by a group of girls all a lot more practiced than myself. But if I just ‘Shake it off’, it’s not something that has come from the deepest recesses of hell… just the outer rings. Rather than a creepy psychotic voice called Tony, I’ve got this music in my mind saying it’s gonna be alright.