Cords and Fleece

The only thing we have to fear, is fear itself. Well...yes and no . Sometimes what we fear turns out to be OK -- in fact, it turns out to be pretty damned fun. The squadron of peppy cheerleaders turns out to be an extremely quiet guy named Ron and a nice girl named Alison who looks like Hayley Mills (but doesn't know who Hayley Mills is). The gymnastics instructor turns out to be a nice young girl woman who is easy to talk to. And I turn out to be considerably less decrepit than originally feared. Of the three students (!), I'm definitely the oldest by more than a decade. However, I was surprised (and thrilled) to see how evenly matched we were. Where one student is flexible, the other is strong. What I lack in youth, I make up for in pointy toes and perky presentation. While I'm certainly not as fit as the other students, I am not miles behind in skill. (Maybe just a few blocks away.) The first class was primarily an assessment of our current capabilities, so we c...

Despite recent evidence to the contrary, it's no secret -- I don't like to exercise. Especially exercise for the sake of exercise... pushups in order to do more and better pushups, etc. To inspire me properly, everything must have purpose . It must be practical. This is why I stopped taking kung fu a few years ago (well, that and it's not easy to execute a perfect roundhouse kick when you're pregnant.) After 2-3 years of working hard to become a great fighter (not that I ever became one), I asked myself, What am I fighting against? I'm not going to join the Army. I don't live in a bad neighborhood. Yet, I'm spending hours and hours of my time learning how to poke some phantom menace in the ojos (that's eyes for those of you who aren't vicariously learning Spanish through your 1st grader). Enough was enough. It just wasn't practical anymore. And thus began the steady process of me falling out of shape. I knew I was in physical decline. T...

  “Did you feel anything?” The teacher questions the class (all two of us) after we perform 15 minutes of breathing meditation exercises. I’m not exactly sure what I should or could be feeling -- I imagine some sort of “chi-ness.” I shake my head. “No, nothing really.” “Huh. Maybe next time,” she says. This is what I want to say: “Actually, I found it a little boring. During the exercises I kept thinking, Let this be the last breath, please. PLEASE. Plus, my back was hurting from sitting like that for so long and I couldn’t stop thinking how funny we must look, sitting in this dark room with our eyes closed and our fingers up our noses .” Instead, I just nod and say, “Yea, maybe next time.”  

  This semester I’m taking a “Vital Energy Meditation” (Qigong) class every Thursday. (I like saying “this semester” -- it makes me feel like I’m a college student and not just someone who happens to work on a college campus.) I’ve been very stressed lately, and I hope that intending to relax will lead to actual relaxing. We’ll see. I must admit, it seems to help, but I have a long way to go... During the class, my teacher plays quiet, meditative music in the background. She told the class (and I later confirmed via Google, because Google is God), that sound can be used to promote inner peace, harmonize our bodies thus opening ourselves to healing chi energy, and regulate our emotions. It occurred to me on the way to work the other day, that this was the exact opposite sound the girls were making in the back seat of the car. Maybe I should take two classes a week.  

My first thought upon entering Activity Room 1 for Beginner’s Tap, was: Huh -- no one’s wearing tap shoes, followed by, Oh my God -- no one’s wearing tap shoes! I knew I was in the right class, but it never occurred to me that in this beginning tap class, students might wait to get their shoes after the first class. I momentarily panicked at the thought of everyone silently tapping in sneakers while I was unable to conceal my offbeat clanking in Grade-A Certified Tap Shoes. After all, it’s much easier to fake it when your feet don’t sound like gun blasts. Curse my over-prepared self! My mind eased when a student pulled out his taps. I wanted to kiss him, but instead said “hi”. He said “hi” quickly and turned his attention back to the beautiful, curly haired Isabel who wore Irish dance shoes. More people arrived and ultimately half the students brought taps. Thank frikkin' God. Our group consisted mostly of college girls fresh from Rhetoric classes and weekend keggers. There wer...

I was a much better dancer before I bought my first tap shoes. Now, with an expensive receipt from Capezio and an empty shoe box on my dresser, I know I have my work cut out for me. Let’s see. How can I describe the sound I made as my feet took my tap shoes for a test drive across the tiles in our family room? How about: clack, clunk, scrape... thud, thump... thump... clack. What rhythm. Guys, you forgot to tell me this shit is hard! Seriously, I tapped better in my bare feet prior to strapping these things on. What happened?! How do you tap dancers do it? You’re geniuses. Truly. Which makes me wonder -- is this just a small glimpse of the apparently large gap that exists between my fantasy self and my real self? If so, what else do I suck at? Could it be that I’m really not a Kung Fu master waiting to unleash my high-kicks on a world of parking space thieves and deceptive Gap clerks? Is it possible I don’t have a novel lurking in my gut or a sultry nightclub performance in my future? ...

I have three words for you: Beginning. Tap. Class. OK. Take a moment to compose yourselves... Yes, I signed up for a beginning tap class that meets conservatively once a week for one hour -- a pace that even I may be able to manage. I also considered Beginning Hip-Hop, which is... OK. I’ll wait while you compose yourselves again... Which is even more hilarious. One day I peaked into a Hip-Hop class and saw five cute college girls all popping and turning and head-shifting and looking cool and bored at the same time. Oh how I wanted to join them. But then I had a flash of me, 36 year-old mother of two, standing amongst them with a big goofy smile on my face and I nixed the idea. There’s nothing more un-hip than appearing to enjoy something and I wouldn’t be able to help myself -- it would be too much fun! So I looked further and saw this ad for an exercise class at the Culture Center: Striptease, by Anissa (Please bring button down shirt and knee pads ) No problem there, since I keep a ...

It was a crazy impulse. As soon as I slid my credit card across the front desk, I thought, I’ve made a mistake. It’s just too soon to register my 3 (almost 4) year-old daughter into a gymnastics meet. But it wasn’t crazy for the reasons you might think. I wasn’t worried about putting her under too much stress or whether or not she could remember a routine. I worried that she just wouldn’t care and that it would be a waste of an evening and $25. I’m just too busy and have too many financial obligations to squander either. The night before the event I was tired and over-extended. Nevertheless, Mom and I couldn’t resist reviewing forward rolls, backbends and the all-important “ta-da” with Elizabeth. “Put your arms up, put your legs together, and say ‘ta-da’. That’s it!” I had to admit -- she was pretty damned cute. At 3:30 am that morning, I finally remembered that it was my responsibility to pack her gym suit, hair bands, brushes, spare clothes, still camera and video camera. As I lumber...