It’s 7pm in Brixton Recreation Centre, South London. A woman draped in Caribbean flags is honking an air horn above my slumped, twitching form and bellowing: “NO SURRENDER! NO SURRENDER!” This is Soca aerobics, “energy and creativity with a dancehall twist,” and I have had to book well in advance to be here. A dance sensation is (supposedly) sweeping the nation, and I wanted to get in on the act.

5 million Britons of all ages, backgrounds and abilities now attend a weekly dance or dance-based fitness class, according to The Times. As the downturn drags on, expensive gym memberships are in decline but cheaper alternatives like running and dance are seeing a surge in popularity. In January the Department of Health launched its ‘Let’s Dance’ campaign, designed to encourage the nation to keep on their toes.  A dance class can be a fantastic exercise option if, like me, gyms strike you as just that touch too much like some kind of masochistic chamber, only with more people hanging about in lycra ready to judge your competency at squat-thrusts.

 Dancing can certainly provide a gruelling workout. My Soca class was taught by the formidable Shantelle, who can best be imagined as the hypothetical offspring of Beyonce and Jack Bauer. The hour mostly consisted of fast-paced repetitions of aerobics moves combined with incredible amounts of what can only be described as aggressive, borderline hostile bottom-shaking, and there was absolutely no question of going at your own pace. I felt a bit foolish, and acutely aware that my control over my gluteus maximus was well below par. But it was so fun that I barely noticed how incredibly hard I was working, though the next day I was walking like a rusty robot.

Amongst schoolchildren, dance is now the second most popular physical activity after football, and it ranks first for girls. The level of GCSE dance entrants has risen by 83 per cent over four years, whilst the number of students taking higher education qualifications in dance has swelled by a phenomenal 97 per cent in five years. Stella Taliadoros, the tap-teaching vice president of Kingston University’s Dance Society, reported that membership of the group has shot up to 300 in 2010 from 200 the previous year. The society offers ballet, tap, salsa, tango and hip hop, the latter being the most popular, but despite a solid mass of interest within the student body it is struggling for lack of university support and funding. Ms Taliadoros, a third year student in psychology and criminology, said: “We spend ridiculous amounts of money renting out dance space, for up to £25 an hour, and are not allowed to use any university facilities for various reasons.”

While it’s still easier to lead a horse through a fire than some men to a dancefloor, a sizable proportion of regular dancers now seem to be men. Ms Taliadoros has noticed that at Kingston: “There is a very nice balance of males and females, surprisingly even for the tango and salsa.” Applications to the Royal Ballet School are now evenly split between the sexes. There is the Billy Elliot effect to consider, but many older men are also perhaps reassured by the triumph of blokey sports stars like Darren Gough within the spangly, perma-tanned universe of Strictly Come Dancing. Indeed, the astronomical popularity of shows like Strictly, which started in 2004, is surely a key factor in the dance revival as a whole.  With So You Think You Can Dance and Britain’s Got Talent, the blood, sweatbands and tears format now dominates Saturday night family entertainment.

One of the most appealing aspects about choosing dance as an exercise option, aside from its capacity to inspire sheer joy and silliness, is the vast range of disciplines on offer, from ballet to belly-dancing.  Kate Cooper, a Masters student in broadcast journalism at Goldsmiths University, attends a weekly pole-dancing class: “I thought it would be an interesting and slightly more unusual way to get some exercise, rather than joining a netball team or something boring like that.” Forget the connotations of sleazy glamour, bracing yourself at an 180 degree invert and attempting to swirl your legs about alluringly, without collapsing and sliding down the pole like an egg that’s been chucked at a wall, is clearly no job for the faint hearted. Ms Cooper reports that she comes home each week covered in bruises, with strains in muscles she never suspected she had. More importantly, the girls-only class provides an excellent chance to laugh: “Watching useless students and women having a midlife crisis strapping on ridiculous shoes and grinding away in an empty room-the whole experience could belong in a sketch show, but it’s amazing and I’d highly recommend it.”

And it’s not just the city hipsters who are slipping into their legwarmers for some unusual forms of dance.  Dr Sarah Peplow, a GP in her fifties from rural Norfolk, attends a weekly class in Ceroc, a contraction of the French phrase, “c’est rock” which involves a fusion of Salsa, Ballroom, Hip Hop, Tango and Jive. Dr Peplow said: “I love it. It’s such a good way for me and my friends to get together and have a giggle-and I’m sure it’s very good for me, though it doesn’t feel too straining.”

It looks like all this stepping is set to stay. While my soca moves might not be setting dancefloors alight any night soon, it seems that Britain is well on its way to becoming one nation under a groove.