For about six months I went to a Zumba class at a community centre in Birmingham, where I moved from Ghana to work as a pharmacist. It was on Tuesday and Thursday evenings in a sports hall that smelled slightly of floor polish.
I only went the first time because my neighbour Precious dragged me along. I was convinced I'd look ridiculous. The class was about twenty-five people, and the mix was wonderful: university students, a couple of grandmothers, a man in his sixties who was by far the most energetic person in the room, and a few mums who came straight from the school run. The instructor, Carla, played loud Latin music and taught us short routines that built up over the hour. For the first few weeks I was always a step behind and kept turning the wrong way, but nobody cared, because everyone made mistakes and laughed it off.
Exercising in a group made a huge difference to me. On my own I'd always found excuses not to exercise, but knowing that Precious was waiting for me, and that Carla would notice if I wasn't there, kept me going. The energy in the room was infectious, too. When you're tired halfway through, seeing everyone else still moving pushes you to keep up. It was also unexpectedly sociable. After class a few of us would get tea together, and as someone fairly new to the city, that helped me feel much less lonely. I stopped when my shifts changed, but I still message some of the people I met there.