A Zumba sceptic is now a believer, but don't hold that against me . . .

Those info-mercials with unbearably happy people, fluoro outfits, Calypso music and cheesy grins had me thinking Zumba was just for, well, happy, bikini-clad, smiley people.

In fact the word Zumba was all a bit too jolly for my liking.

But after some kind of kooky intervention, I realised I could mix my like of dancing with my loathing of exercise.

This could be the something that could get me off my ass that didn't require me hitting a dance club at 3am. *cue: reminiscing moment*.

At this Zumba class, no uniform is required. No spray tan or sequined 'G' needed and it cost me just 15 bucks for the hour.

I opted for an old black t-shirt, some even older floppy soft cotton pants and some gym shoes, whose heels, I was advised, to tape with shiny masking tape (supplied) 'for ease of movement on the carpeted school hall floor,' so said Sharon.

The night I went, Diego (who looks to have small but loyal cult following, a sensational accent and is husband to Shazza) was headlining the 7pm class.

It was a class of about ten people, from 25 to around 70-years-of-age, including one bloke around 40.

Basically, the Latin dance-inspired workout paces along incredibly quickly and because of repetition, you'll be bound to pick up the sets of 'steps'. Eventually.

The music is fast and furious, you can feel every part of you jiggle at some stage as you can choose to dip in and dip out, if you want.

But really, I was too busy merengue-ing with myself to even contemplate taking a breather.

There's lots of hip thrusting, fast foot-bopping, lunging and a fair of jazz hand movement too. Think Rio Carnivale and all that frenetic lower body pulsating that goes on and that's Zumba. And to music that is actually engaging.

Overall, I really liked it. And from me, the exercise heathen, that's saying something.

I've also read it burn lots of calories and judging by the sweat, I kind of like that aspect too.

I will be back . . .