You are currently browsing the category archive for the ‘Dancing’ category.
One of my favorite things about 5Rhythms (aside from getting to dance for two hours straight) is the wide range of music used during class. As I mentioned yesterday, 5Rhythms playlists are eclectic and can include everything from classical to country to techno. I love experimenting with different musical genres, but most dance classes don’t have that kind of flexibility. Zumba is all Latin music. Aerobic dance at the gym is all of today’s best hits but sped up x100 so it sounds like Minnie Mouse, not Lady Gaga, is singing. And then places that DO offer a full menu of music, such as the nightclub, where the Jackson 5’s “ABC” may follow Jay-Z, aren’t necessarily the most welcoming venues to open your heart to authentic movement.
As such, a mark of a great 5Rhythms teacher is not just his ability to get everyone moving but to be an awesome DJ as well. Music is key in this practice, and songs must flow seamlessly one into the other, meaning that aside from having pieces selected for each of the 5 Rhythms (Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, Stillness), there must be transition songs that link one Rhythm to the next.
This gradual build-up in tempo and those transition songs are what really attracts me to the practice. I dance around in my living room a lot, and I have found that if I come home from work and immediately blast a very Chaos-like song and start jumping and running all over the place–while it may provide a short-term release of energy–I also get tired much earlier in the game than if I approached my living room dance more like 5Rhythms. I think the key to dancing is starting slow and building the fire, not jumping into the flames at the get-go. Without those lovely rhythms of Flowing and Staccato to launch me into movement, I’ll most likely conk out after 15 minutes, exhausted, unmotivated, and feeling somewhat anticlimactic.
Yesterday’s blog post took me a while to write, and when I was finished all I wanted to do was step away from the computer and move! At first I was very tempted to blast some drumming music and just go at it, but then I remembered how fulfilling a full 5Rhythms practice makes me feel, so I quickly cobbled together a playlist. I’ll admit, I was doubtful about getting into “the zone” (I was feeling mighty exhausted and kind of hungry), but 35 minutes later I had a decent physical and mental workout under my belt.
Here’s my playlist from yesterday, which also provides insight into how each of the Rhythms should “feel.” (Since I was rushed, I didn’t add transition songs for every Rhythm. Also, as you can see, I get most of my music ideas from So You Think You Can Dance, which is a great resource for finding new songs!)
Flowing: “Brotsjor,” Ólafur Arnalds (Tadd and Jordan’s vulture dance, Season 8 )
Flowing/Staccato: “Scars,” Basement Jaxx (Robert and Dominic’s clown routine, Season 7)
Staccato: “Sweet Dreams,” Eurythmics (Sabra and Neil’s boardroom dance, Season 3)
Staccato: “I Can Transform Ya,” Chris Brown (Russell and Kathryn’s hip hop, Season 6)
Chaos: “Riding the Waves,” Afro Celt Sound System (Jordan and Tadd’s African jazz routine, Season 8 )
Chaos/Lyrical: “Drumming Song,” Florence + the Machine (All Stars group dance, Season 7)
Lyrical: “Addicted to Love,” Florence and the Machine (Adechike and Kathryn, Season 7)
Stillness: “Time,” Inception soundtrack (no SYTYCD connection)
It ended up being a great playlist; it felt very well-rounded and I was blissed out by the end!
Thinking of creating your own 5Rhythms-inspired playlist? Here are some of my favorite songs for each of the Rhythms (I may or may not have a slight obsession with Florence + the Machine right now):
Flowing: “Teardrop,” Massive Attack (also known as the House theme); “Intro,” The XX
Staccato: “Where is the Love,” Black Eyed Peas (this gets everyone moving and grooving in a live class!); “Rock What You Got,” Superchick; “Run the World,” Beyonce
Chaos: “God is a DJ,” Faithless; “Dog Days are Over,” Florence + the Machine
Lyrical: “Coming Home,” Diddy; “Cosmic Love,” Florence + the Machine
Stillness: “Amazing Grace,” Walela; “Glasgow Love Theme,” Love Actually soundtrack.
If you have a song you think would fit nicely into one of my playlists, let me know!
SYTYCD Season 7 tour
As you may have noticed, I write a lot on here about this “5Rhythms” thing I do a few times a month. Because it’s not a well-known or widespread practice, I figured I’d provide a little background about this powerful moving meditation that has been a welcome part of life since April 2010.
Basic Description
5Rhythms is a meditative dance/movement class, described most fully in founder Gabrielle Roth’s book, Sweat Your Prayers, which I read before I even knew such classes existed and that one day there would be a class 20 minutes from me. During each class (the ones I attend are usually 2-3 hours), students are led through a “Wave” of motion. 5 distinct rhythms comprise a single Wave: Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, and Stillness, in that order. The music, which can range from classical to country to techno, is carefully selected to guide students through each segment; equal time spent in each rhythm ensures the ebb and flow of movement become natural, rather than choppy and disjointed. A typical class usually includes two or three Waves.
A Breakdown of the 5Rhythms
Warm-Up: Classes usually start with a self-led warm-up. Soft, inviting music plays as people enter the room, and students warm up their bodies however they please, whether stretching on the floor, sitting in meditation, or simply walking around the studio. There is no official “OK, class begins now; warm-up time!” People used to very regimented classes may feel awkward having to move on their own and not having direct instructions to follow; however, there are no “wrong” movements in 5Rhythms. Standing still and just focusing on your breath is just as acceptable as moving through a flowing yoga sequence.
Flowing: The swelling skirt of a dancing dervish
Flowing: Gradually the music shifts to Flowing. At this point, people who are in seated meditation usually begin to move a little more; movement may become more sweeping and airy. The pace picks up a little, and more bodies are crisscrossing throughout the room, arms circling, shoulders rolling, chests expanding and contracting.
Staccato: Washington Monument
Staccato: After Flowing, the music switches to something with a distinct beat, music you can bob your head or snip your fingers to. Frequently, this is the rhythm during which reserved students begin to smile, because the songs are usually fun and upbeat. Typical Staccato movement includes foot tapping, hip rocking, arm punching, and sometimes even clapping or vocal exclamations.
Chaos: Roller coaster
Chaos: After building energy from Staccato, the body naturally amps up to Chaos. Typical music includes fast African drumming and techno compilations. For some people (myself included), this is the “voo-doo rain dance” portion of the class, when eyes roll into the back of the head, ponytails are released and hair let down, flailing and spinning and wild hypnotic movement ensues.
Yet, at the same time, Chaos can also be very subtle; I have had very intense Chaos experiences in which all I was doing was walking very deliberately around the studio with my hands doing all of the dancing. In that sense, Chaos can be either laughing uncontrollably or experiencing one of those deep laughs where you don’t even make a sound. Both are equally as intense.
Lyrical: Swinging
Lyrical: After expending all that energy, the body gradually cools down with entrance into Lyrical, which is seen as a combination of all of the above rhythms. Synthesis would an appropriate term to describe this rhythm. Some people settle into more of a flowing pattern here, but others are still feeling the wild effects of Chaos, toning down their movements just a tad. Hints of Staccato usually return during Lyrical, even if just for a fleeting moment. People’s movements vary significantly during this rhythm, as some are growing tired and slowing down while others are still processing everything running through them.
Stillness: Buddha
Stillness: The conclusion of a Wave, Stillness is marked by music such as Tibetan singing bowls, an achingly poignant instrumental song, or a few piano keys. Movement becomes very meditative during this phase, and for some people is very sacred and profound, almost a prayer. Some people gesture up to the sky, others sink into the floor and curl into a ball. Despite its name, Stillness is usually the most “moving” of all 5 Rhythms; it is the time when everything falls into line, realizations are made, and emotions come to the surface. It is not uncommon for people to cry or get emotional during this stage.
(Real-life examples provided by Gabrielle Roth, Sweat Your Prayers. Photos are mine.)
Instruction
Instruction is very loose during 5Rhythms, and most of the class is self-led, an invitation for students to explore their own movements and personalities. As mentioned earlier, those used to detailed instruction may feel self-conscious at first, thinking they are doing something wrong or that they should be doing what that guy is doing. I find that it’s much easier to move with my eyes closed at first, pretending I am in my living room at home, dancing to the radio. Copying others’ movement is also encouraged if you’re having difficulty getting in touch with your own rhythm; sometimes doing someone else’s move for just a few seconds will create an Aha! moment in yourself, and suddenly you’ll launch into your own pattern without even thinking about it.
If the class includes mostly new students or beginners, the instructor is more likely to include more discussion about each of the rhythms and his own demonstrations of each. Other exercises include isolated movements of each body part (i.e., “Just move your hands. Explore the movements of the fingers and wrists, make the dance come from only your hands,” so on and so forth with the head and neck, shoulders and arms, hips and knees, and feet).
Sometimes you’ll be guided on the kind of movement to make; for example, “Do an ‘open’ move,” followed by “Do a ‘closed’ move,” or do an “up” versus “down” movement. As you can see, these instructions are generous and open to interpretation, allowing for authentic movement to emerge. Never in a 5Rhythms class will you be directed exactly how to move (“Grapevine to the left, pivot turn, and shimmy on down!”) or told precisely how you should feel (“You are a goddess! You are glowing and radiant!”). The purpose of 5Rhythms is to explore your OWN movement, even if it’s sloppy and you feel like crap.
Depending on the experience and comfort levels among the group, sometimes partner work is incorporated into a class; however, it’s nothing like ballroom dancing. Partner work can be as simple as pairing up with another person and doing your own thing, just being aware of the other’s movement (this post includes specifics about 5Rhythms partner work), although some people, if there’s a connection, will find themselves engaged in a very eloquent pas de deux as though they had been dancing together forever. Some couples can dance beautifully without ever touching, and others are more tactile and like to grasp hands, link arms, etc. The instructor calls for partner changes frequently so you’re able to experience working with different personalities and abilities.
Who Can Do the 5Rhythms?
People of all abilities are invited to dance the 5Rhythms. Since the class is self-regulated, students have permission to slow down when they need to, use a wall as support, or even dance while seated. My instructor has taken classes on crutches after a knee surgery; I’ve danced with people with hearing impairments, autoimmune diseases, and myself with a gimpy hip; and I’ve seen all different types of people in class, from former Navy SEALs to yoga instructors to physicians. No dance experience is necessary, and it is typically people without formal dance training who express themselves the most during class, as they are not locked into the notion of what dance “should” look like.
What Does One Wear?
5Rhythms is done either barefoot or in soft-soled dance shoes, as most classes typically take place in dance or yoga studios with very delicate floors. As for clothing, anything goes, as long as it’s comfortable. I’ve danced in sports bras, sweatshirt hoodies, and flowing skirts, yet others come to class in sweatpants and a tee; loose-fitting jeans; or glittery, fringed, Latin-inspired dance dresses. Wear what makes you YOU. Layers are important as well, because although you may start off class a bit chilly, by Chaos you may be sweating up a storm.
A Deeper Experience
As I wrote here, there is no doubt that 5Rhythms is an intense cardiovascular practice. However, once you dance the 5Rhythms on a regular basis, you begin to notice how the Rhythms are parallel to real life, the same way yoga practitioners begin to notice that yoga is more than just doing poses on a rubber mat.
For example, you may find that you are more of a “Flowing” personality and can never be clear and precise about your needs and wants. Perhaps you need to be a little more forthright (Staccato) about declaring your intentions and ambitions. Also, you begin to see the 5Rhythms in everyday occurrences, such as children playing outside (after a breathless round of playing tag [Chaos], their movement will gradually progress to Lyrical and finally to naptime [Stillness]) or the death of a loved one (in which the stages of grief are very close to each of the 5 Rhythms).
Also with experience comes a greater comfort level in dancing authentically. It can take a few classes before you begin to let go of self-consciousness and find your true movement. I also enjoy doing a Wave or two by myself at home, when no one is watching.
Finding a 5Rhythms Class
Due to the rigorous, extensive training it takes to complete 5Rhythms teacher training, not many people are certified to teach and thus classes are not as widespread as, say, yoga classes. Certified teachers are listed on the 5Rhythms website (click on the “Teachers” side tab), and I found my local classes through Meetup. Institutions such as Kripalu, Omega, and Esalen sometimes host weekend programs or intensives. Although dancing with a group and having someone else DJ is great, the 5Rhythms can easily be done by yourself at home, as Meg from Spirit Moves Dance frequently demonstrates.
Reading Gabrielle Roth’s Sweat Your Prayers is a wonderful place to start, as she offers numerous movement examples and even suggestions for music. iTunes, Spotify, Pandora, and Grooveshark technology make it easy to create and share playlists; just be sure to have your playlist ready to go before you dance rather than choose music as you go along; the smoother the transitions, the more immersed into the dance you will become.
Final Words
No two 5Rhythms classes are the same for me. Sometimes I leave feeling open, exposed, and vulnerable; other times I leave class feeling high as a kite and in love with the world. Sometimes my cells vibrate; other times I am ho-hum. More often than not, though, I leave class feeling better than when I started, both physically and mentally. I feel more aware of the people and things around me; I am able to express my thoughts more clearly; and my body is thanking me for allowing it to move naturally rather than in some forced, repetitive manner.
To close, here are some snippets of journal entries I wrote following 5Rhythms class:
• “My body was delighted to be moving naturally, sweating from dancing, not from doing 30 minutes on a StairMaster. Dancing has always felt freeing, but it was even more so last night because I’ve just felt so restricted lately. My limbs and heart felt liberated, and in turn my breath quickened, my eyes rolled back, and I attained a sense of euphoria that even running cannot provide me.”
• “What I had learned in that class last month was that ‘dance’ can be achieved with minimal movement. Sure, I love leaping and jumping and spinning and am totally obsessed with the choreography on So You Think You Can Dance, but dance is also a mental place for me. So even though I didn’t move as much in that July class, I felt like I had danced more than ever. I connected with the music and took my soul to a different dimension.”
• “Once again, I had to drag myself to the center of the room after class. I felt like I was on a different plane and that my body needed some time to settle back on earth. All that from 90 minutes of dance!”
• “When the class ended, my cells were vibrating the same way they used to vibrate after an intense kundalini yoga class. I felt like I was drunk on air and music and sweat. What a wacky, wonderful, and soul-satisfying experience.”
(Editor’s note, 1/26/13: Gabrielle Roth, the founder of 5Rhythms, died in October 2012 at the age of 71. Detailed posts about her passing and subsequent memorial can be found here and here.)
When my great aunt died in March, two deaths actually occurred: hers, and the house in which she lived.
My aunt was the last person living in the Northeast Philly rowhome that had been part of the family since the 1930s, when my great-grandparents came to America from Poland. My great-grandfather died early, my grandmother got married and moved to New Jersey, and then for several years the house was occupied by my great-grandmother and her other three children–my Uncle Cas and my Aunts Adzia and Stasia.
By the time I came into the picture, my great-grandmother, Babcia, was very sick. Most of my memories of her involve her sitting in the corner chair in the living room, colostomy bag strapped to her side.
Her English was poor, and she spoke mostly in Polish. As a small child, a very old woman with a pee bag who spoke in a foreign tongue was somewhat frightening, and I hated when she’d scold my aunts for scratching my back and letting me watch the mini-series V.
I was 6 when Babcia died. I remember several events of that day, starting from being at home and my mom asking me if I wanted to go over to Babcia’s house for the afternoon. Of course! I said, because I knew either Adzia or Stasia would give me something cool, like a new coloring book or toy. My mom warned me that Babcia was very sick; I was OK with that. What I didn’t know then as a child was that Babcia was actually dying, and my mom had gotten a call that this was the end. By the time we crossed the bridge and got into Philly, Babcia had died. I was quickly ushered upstairs into Babcia’s old bedroom (which she hadn’t used in years; she had been sleeping in a hospital bed downstairs) and was told to stay on the left side of the bed, on the floor, and play with the Valentine’s puzzle I had just gotten. Everyone was crying and running around the house looking for papers, but I was content putting together my candy heart puzzle in the “purple room,” which until then I had never been allowed in.
After Babcia died, my Aunt Adzia finally had a place to sleep. Until then, she had been sleeping on a mat in the middle of the living room (nevermind the fact that “purple room” remained vacant, but apparently it was viewed as some kind of shrine to Babcia). The front room of the house was eventually transformed into Adzia’s bedroom.
My Aunt Adzia crafted this dress from old curtains.
For years, the three siblings lived together in the house, and every Friday afternoon my mom, grandmom, and I (and eventually my sister) would drive over the bridge to visit them. We’d go out dinner, go shopping (usually at Ports of the World, which we termed “The Biggie” because of its massive size), and then have dessert back at the house in the kitchen.
My aunt would always have cupcakes or doughnuts prepared for us, and my uncle would let me pick his numbers for the lottery cards he bought each week.
My Uncle Cas was a man of mystery. He’d come home from work around 4:30, sleep till 8 or so, and then go out for the night with his fiancee Mary Ellen. I never understood how someone could just be going out for the night that late!
Even his bedroom was a mystery. The door was always closed, and I was warned over and over again not to go into Uncle Cas’ room. To this day, I still don’t know what made the room off-limits. Was it just plain old messy? Did he have girlie posters hanging? Was there porn stashed everywhere?
The first time in 31 years I looked into Uncle Cas' room.
Uncle Cas was the youngest but the first of the 4 siblings to die. He didn’t know it at the time, but when he came to my wedding in 2004 and had trouble eating the food, it was because he had colon cancer.
My Aunt Stasia, the second youngest and most religious of the siblings, was the next to pass away.
Her illness was drawn out for years. At first she refused to leave the house, then the upstairs, then her bedroom. My Aunt Adzia waited on hand and foot. Her bedroom, once a fancy “beauty parlor” in my young eyes, turned into a dark and depressing psychiatric ward. She died in 2007, after nearly 5 years of never leaving the house.
Stasia's drawers were full of colorful costume jewelry, and sitting at her vanity made me feel like a model.
My Aunt Adzia lived alone in the house for nearly 4 years after her sister’s death. Don’t ask me how an 80-something spinster who didn’t drive managed this property–located on a high-volume road just minutes from I-95–on her own. She hired someone to mow the lawn, and my mom and grandmom visited every other week to take her grocery shopping, but for the most part she kept the place spic and span with her own two hands.
The front porch, which was renovated in the '90s after a tractor trailer smashed into it.
Adzia's handicrafts decorated the front windows and rotated holiday to holiday.
Everything she wrote had to be on a straight line. She used a ruler on all of our Christmas and birthday cards, too.
Blast from the past bathroom
Eerie bathroom light
Don't all dining rooms have one of these in the corner?
Adzia was hospitalized at the end of November after collapsing in the basement bathroom.
During the initial stages of her hospitalization she was so concerned about the decorations in her windows–they were still Thanksgiving-themed, and it was time for the Christmas ones.
The deer in the backyard lost its head years ago; my aunt compensated for its loss by decorating the body with a wreath.
She died in March, after almost 4 months going back and forth between the hospital and rehab. She never returned home.
After she died, my mom and grandmom spent several days a week cleaning out the house to prepare it for the market. They removed all the clothes and valuables, but most of the furniture, linens, and appliances are being sold with the house. All the photos pictured thus far are how the house remains for the new owner.
New owner. It’s incredibly odd and profoundly sad to know that in three days this house–where my family lived after moving to America during the Great Depression–will no longer be part of the family. So much of my childhood was spent in that house, from those Friday night visits to weekend sleepovers when my aunts would take me out to breakfast or buy me sugary cereal like Count Chocula that was forbidden at home to late summer nights when I’d dance outside using their vast lawn as my stage. I’d color on the living room floor with the new coloring books Adzia bought for me every week, help my aunts pick out the ripe tomatoes and peppers from their garden, and eat Old London pizza at the kitchen table.
Descending into the basement, where my aunts would smoke their cigarettes and where I'd hang out with them, much to my mother's dismay.
No longer visible is the cloud of cigarette smoke lingering near the rafters or the row of hanging clothes bags against the left wall, where I'd hide from my aunts.
My Aunt Stasia continued to wash her hair in the basement sink, even though the bathroom upstairs had a shower.
My visit to the house this weekend was my first time there since last summer–and my last visit ever. It was so weird to walk through the door and not hear my Aunt Adzia calling, “Jennifer, dollbaby!” I couldn’t decide whether having the house furnished was a good or bad thing–seeing everything the way it’s been forever was comforting as opposed to seeing each room stripped of its familiarity, but at the same time it was so strange to see everything there, minus my aunt.
I wanted to honor the house in some way before I left, and I felt it was most appropriate to dance in the living room, like I always had anytime I visited. Since my childhood, the house had a giant mirror perched behind the sofa; it was like a dance studio! I’d always be practicing pirouettes or perfecting my arabesques, checking myself out. During my younger days, I’d bring my cassette tapes over to the house and perform my dance studio recital numbers in the living room for my aunts, who’d sit on the couch and be my captive audience.
And just like in 5Rhythms, the dance always ends with Stillness.
Every so often I’ll pass a flier for a Zumba or Jazzercise class and think, “Hmm, I should try that.” I love to dance, I love groovy music, and I’m always looking for new avenues of fun fitness.
But here’s the problem: 5Rhythms has completely altered my perspective about dance. It’s changed my whole approach to dancing, even though the kind of movement done in 5Rhythms class is what my body has always been asking for.
When a Zumba class starts, it starts. The music is thump-thump-thump-thump right away, and the body is pushed to go quickly from ahhhhh to AHHH! It reminds me of highway construction that shuts down merging lanes and replaces them with stop signs, so cars coming onto the road must come to a complete standstill and then gun it to 65 miles per hour in an effort not to get hit.
On the flip side, a typical 5 Rhythms class starts off with the rhythm of Flowing. Think Enya songs, music with an ebb and flow, neck and shoulder rolls, heavy sighs, aimless gliding around the room. Warming up the body, moving it naturally, like starting off a lazy Sunday morning drive down a country road.
Sure, Zumba classes are meant to be cardio-intense, but 5 Rhythms can be deceivingly just as heartpounding. Aerobic dance classes generally have a pattern of:
–++!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!++–
(that’s my way of denoting intensity through punctuation).
5Rhythms classes look more like:
~~++!!**__~~++!!**__~~++!!**__
It’s a bit like interval training, and the more Waves (Flowing, Staccato, Chaos, Lyrical, Stillness) the class contains, the more the body is challenged. I get totally breathless at times during 5Rhythms, but when I leave a 2-hour class my body feels so at peace with itself rather than defeated. I took a 1-hour Zumba class last summer, didn’t get nearly as cardiovascularly challenged, and woke up the next morning with sore knees and joints.
Self-regulation–the freedom to take it easy/rest when the body calls for it–is a major component of 5Rhythms, the element that keeps drawing me back…and keeps steering me from Zumba or Jazzercise (and even at times from returning to studio classes like ballet or jazz). Now I know Zumba teachers aren’t boot camp drill sergeants and won’t push anyone to do something potentially injurious, but it’s the nature of the class to “Push it!” “Amp it up!” “C’mon, feel the burn!” A student who needs to take it down a notch may feel self-conscious if she has to stop shaking her hips with the rest of the class and stick only to arm movements.
Imagine loving to move and dance but living with a painful foot condition that made standing for long periods of time unbearable. One of my fellow students in last week’s 5 Rhythms class faced that challenge, but because of the self-regulating principles of the style she was still able to dance the entire time.
For a good portion of the class, the woman danced like this, from the floor. And it was absolutely beautiful. She sat cross-legged, she sat on her knees, she writhed and wiggled on her back. Her hands moved like feet; her arms shook and made circles and slithered like snakes; and some of her facial expressions were dances in themselves. I slid up to her at one point–she appeared open to partner work–and was surprised to see that her seated Chaos was just as powerful and passionate as those of us on our feet. Both of us now on our asses, we engaged in some of the wildest Chaos moves I have ever performed.
It very much reminded me of yet another style of meditative movement, Nia. A few summers ago I took a 6-week class series in which one of the students was a 20-something man in a motorized wheelchair. When the other students grapevined across the floor, he powered his chair along with us. When we kicked our legs like karate chops, he did the same movement with his arms. When we spun, he put one arm in the air and the other on his togglestick and circled around like everyone else.
How wonderful is it that these forms of movement exist, where people who are tired or sick or just need to sit down for a few minutes can still be a part of the dance, where flicking a finger or wrist can be as freeing as shaking the hips in a double-time samba?
I’m not discounting other forms of dance; hell, I just heard a dance studio was opening three blocks from my house and instantly thought, “Hmm, I hope they’ll offer adult classes!” Studio dance is a huge part of my life, and every now and then I just want to learn some awesome choreography and bust it out on a sprung floor. I love learning dance, I love watching dance (I’m actually watching So You Think You Can Dance as I type). But the truth of the matter is that sometimes my body just wants to stay in ahhhh even though others may be in AHHHH!, and it’s so nice to be in a place that supports listening to both the music and the body.
I had to rush out to Staples this afternoon to buy a new planner because my current one only goes through July, and my schedule is already extending into September. 5Rhythms classes throughout the summer; a comedy show in July, a possible kayaking trip, a drum circle; in August, there are kundalini classes, a Phillies game, the return of Biodanza (!), my sister-in-law’s going away party; and in September–already marked on the kitchen calendar with Mickey heads and sunshines–is the impromptu Disney World trip Bryan and I booked last week.
This will be the fifth consecutive Disney trip that Bryan and I are taking together; since 2007, we’ve been going to Florida every September; last year we paid homage to Walt’s baby out in Anaheim; and now this year we’re headed back to Orlando for a week at the Wilderness Lodge. We hadn’t intended to do Disney this year; in fact, one of my New Year’s resolutions for 2011 was to back off on the Disney trips for a few years and wait until 2014 (our 10-year wedding anniversary) to return for a Disney Vow Renewal Extravaganza with our friends Zak and Cathy.
Instead, Bryan and I tried to discuss alternative vacation ideas. We talked about renting a shore house for a week. I was thinking about skittering off to Kripalu by myself for a few days. We briefly considered a cruise. We talked and pondered and hemmed and hawed, but nothing was getting penned in permanently on the calendar. There were no Mickey heads to draw into September’s squares.
The decision to return to Disney was drawn out over about a week’s time, with back-and-forth debates between Bryan and me a regular nightly occurrence. Then Disney announced the return of its free dining plan…and about 12 hours later, we were booked. I got to draw the Mickey heads on the kitchen calendar once again.
My reasons for being obsessed with Disney are beyond the scope of this post (it all dates back to my first trip in 1987), but, in short, it’s a place where–once we drive through that giant red and purple “Walt Disney World” gate–I am free. I am free to slow dance on the train platform with my husband after the evening’s fireworks show, with thousands of people surrounding us. I am free to wrap my arms around a life-sized Pooh bear, kiss him on the nose, and ask for his autograph. I am free to “Yo Ho” like a pirate in the middle of Adventureland, pretend to be asleep during the biggest drop on Expedition Everest so it gives me something to laugh about when I see the instant attraction photo, and get goosebumps when the character-filled steamboat rolls out during the end of Fantasmic!, even though I’ve seen the show well over a dozen times by now. Bryan and I are free to wear matching Wall•E shirts, I can wear Mickey ears in public, and it’s completely acceptable for a 30-year-old woman to join a conga line led by a giant blue alien.
So it kind of made sense this past Friday when, as my 5Rhythms class drew to an end, I sat up from my final moment in Stillness, joined the group in a sharing circle, and compared 5Rhythms to Disney World.
“It’s a place I get giddy just thinking about. I count down the days to 5Rhythms the same way I do before we go to Florida. I go to Disney World, I can be free. I come to 5Rhythms, I am free. 5Rhythms is the Disney World of dance, a place where you can twirl, jump, and fly down the street without inhibition, a place where it’s OK to be goofy if that’s what calls, a place where magic transpires, dreams are realized, and a place you never want to leave.”
Bryan and I get teased a lot for continuing to return to a destination that’s “for kids.” I never received an official adult rulebook, but if it says that being married and having a mortgage mean that eating Mickey-shaped ice cream sandwiches while watching Tinkerbell fly out of Cinderella Castle is not for grown-ups, well, hell, just call me Peter Pan then. I don’t want to grow up if “adult” = “not allowed to crack a smile when 5-foot-tall Chip and Dale chipmunks fight over who gets to take me out to dinner.”
The same misconceptions are held about dance. As Meg from Spirit Moves Dance has pointed out, we are born dancing. We wiggle in our cribs, spin in circles on the lawn, bust out in toddler hip-hop when a cool song comes on the radio at the grocery store. Gradually–and sadly–this boldness begins to fade as adulthood approaches. It’s a condition called self-consciousness, and it’s what stops us from dancing in the park when the guy on the bench over there is playing a really cool song on his guitar, and man, I’d just like to groooove to that, but then everyone would look at me, and, well, kids can get away with that, but I’m an adult.
A fellow new to 5Rhythms understood my Disney/dance metaphor. He started the class somewhat reserved, simple swaying motions, cautiously moving here and there around the studio. Two hours later, he was running around the bamboo floor, arms spread wide open, smiling from ear to ear: “I look at my 3-year-old daughter. She does this all the time,” he shared afterward. “She just moves freely, twirling, spinning all over the place. I don’t even remember the last time I spun; it’s been forever. It felt great to spin again.”
Another question Bryan and I get about our vacation preference is “Well, is there anything different there this year?, as though there needs to be something spectacularly new to validate our trip. Sometimes there may be a new attraction or show, but we don’t book a week-long trip simply to try out the revamped Star Tours ride. Disney World trips are like snowflakes–no two are alike. When you look at the big picture, sure, it has the same foundation: a castle, a giant golf ball, a sparkly Sorcerer Mickey hat, a fiberglass Tree of Life. But when you focus in on the small things–really pay attention to the details–every experience is unique. Consider, for example, the costumed character Stitch (my favorite). In over the course of just one trip, Bryan and I witnessed him:
• play with my dangly earrings.
• lick his finger and write on my arm, pretending to sign his name in spit.
• embrace me a death grip and wouldn’t let go.
• cover Bryan’s face when the photographer went to take our picture.
• play with Bryan’s baseball cap.
• push Lilo away and kept me all to himself.
• emerge from his break with flowers in his giant ear and one on his head.
• try to take a Stitch backpack off a woman’s back.
• remove a Stitch keychain from someone’s purse and stick it in his ear.
A 5Rhythms class always starts off the same: gentle music, a warm-up to Flowing. Sometimes the instructor even plays a few of the same songs he played during last week’s class. It can be the same studio, same people, same music, but no two 5Rhythms classes are ever the same. Movement there is not choreographed: A tribal drum beat that had me flying from wall to wall last week may inspire me this week to slither on the floor. Last month all I wanted to do was dance differently from everyone else; during this past class, I got the urge to mimic others’ movement and do something of a “shadowing” dance behind their backs. One moment I am gliding across the studio to the Swan Lake score; 20 minutes later, I am thrashing my hair around to techno music.
I think my calendar speaks volumes about what I’m most passionate about. Of course I look forward to seeing comedian Jim Gaffigan in two weeks and taking a kundalini workshop at the end of July, but the things that get me giddy–the events for which I draw Mickey ears and exclamation points and count down the days in my planner–are the core of who I am and what makes me happy.
Disney World and 5Rhythms make me spin; what items on your calendar make you dizzy with anticipation?
Lately I’ve been discovering that some of my best workouts happen when I’m just winging it, when I leave the house for work in the morning with not a clue of what I’m going to do for that evening’s workout. I’ll always leave with a bag of random gear in hand–yoga mat, sneakers/socks, shorts, combination lock for the gym. Sometimes I use ’em, sometimes I don’t.
Don’t get me wrong, structure is great. In fact, it is somewhat scary for me NOT to have a solid plan, because I am normally a very.structured.person. I like to be home by 8 on weeknights, ensuring me enough time to stretch before bed, get the next day’s outfit together, prep the coffee maker, make tomorrow’s lunch. I wake up by 5:30 every morning so I can do my “routine”–more stretching, some breathing, a little yoga, a few hip exercises before hitting the shower. I have difficulties being spontaneous, because in my mind, I already have a plan.
When it comes to working out, though, I’ve been finding that I get discouraged if I start the day at 8 a.m. thinking, “OK, tonight you will ride the bike for 30 minutes and then do 10 minutes of abs and an upper-body workout.” My body doesn’t respond well to repetitive motion exercises like biking or the elliptical, so the instant I tell myself that’s what I have to do, I already start hating it. Nine times out of 10 I’ll still follow through with it, but I’ll leave the gym feeling meh instead of yeah!
As I mentioned in this previous post, sometimes just tossing a medicine ball for a few minutes sparks a spontaneous and exhilarating workout. So this week I’ve been making an effort to just wing it, or–to tie in with my blog’s mission statement–to go with the flow. Here’s what happened:
• I woke up early last Saturday because I thought I’d go swimming before my friend’s pool party later that evening (hey, what’s wrong with a little double dipping?). But as the morning wore on, it was clear that I was never going to get my butt to the gym; also, it was beautiful out that day, and I hate wasting sunny skies and summer weather by being inside. So instead of a bathing suit, I slipped into some shorts and sneakers and headed out for an aimless walk. Two bathroom stops, one organic juice purchase, a red iPod Nano on the fritz, and 7 miles later, I arrived back home, in just enough time to clean myself up and change into that bathing suit for my friend’s party. There, I played around with a kickboard in the pool and treaded water in the deep end for a bit. Long walk AND some light swimmy-swim. Score!
• With my hair still heavy with chlorine from the previous night’s party, on Sunday I headed back into the pool for a lap workout. But because I got a decent night’s sleep and had coffee recently infused in my system, my body was primed for anything but light swimmy-swim. A huge burst of energy came out of nowhere, and my normal ho-hum out-and-back lap routine turned into fast-forward, high-powered workout. In my workout log, I actually termed it the “Woah, Speed!” swim.
• Monday was probably the most satisfying of winging-it days. It was the day before the summer solstice, the weather was warm, the sun was brilliant. I felt like I had to honor this day and soak up as much daylight as possible (aaaah, the bittersweetness of summer solstice, the commencement of my favorite season yet also the beginning of the end of what feels like round-the-clock sunlight, happiness, and rainbows). I drove to the nearby Red Bank Battlefield, which is ever-so-gradually becoming my go-to spot whenever Mother Nature is dressed to the nines (Side note: It’s a national park, so there are rangers on site. Rangers, with government patches on their shirt sleeves, wide-brimmed ranger hats, and official-use golf carts to drive around the property. I love rangers! It makes the place feel so official. It reminds me of Ranger Rick magazine!) There, I threw together an impromptu workout of walking around the many winding pathways, climbing the steep steps several times, doing some triceps dips on park benches, and attempting to do a chin-up on a tree branch (FAIL, because the branch ended up being a lot higher than it looked).
The sun wasn’t ready to set yet, so I set up camp (plopped down my yoga mat) on the big lawn that faces the Delaware River.
I did some basic yoga stuff (lots of sun salutes), but I had on my iPod and the music was calling for me to dance. I did stand on my yoga mat and do a lot of dance-inspired asanas, but the sprawling lawn, glowing sun, sparkling river, and overall beauty of the day were just begging me to bust out some free-form moves. I’m ashamed to admit I was held back by fear of what others in the park would think of me, this girl dancing in the grass. My body ached to express itself in such a picturesque environment, and even though I felt insulated by the iPod ear buds that separated me from any passersby’s comments, I held back and did not dance how my body was requesting to. I moved and grooved with reservation; it was nice, but not 100% fulfilling. How come I think it’s acceptable for someone to sit on a park bench and play the guitar while singing along, but I fear that dancing is totally weird? Argh. Still, a pretty decent combination of random stuff that made me sweat and get my heart rate up.
• Tuesday morning, I was listening to my otherwise chill Grooveshark playlist as I did my morning stretches when Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” clicked on. Suddenly, I was on my feet and dancing. Hard. What was supposed to be a few minutes of gentle yoga postures turned into a spontaneous dance party, and by the end I really needed my morning shower. (Note: This happened again this morning as I was listening to Florence and the Machine’s album [Lungs] for the first time. Seriously, how can one NOT be moved to dance to “Cosmic Love”?! Note II: It’s the song they’re playing with the trailer for Elephants for Water.)
• Thursday night is supposed to be my non-negotiable hot vinyasa class. The studio is 2 minutes from my office, I love the teacher, and it’s one of the few studio class I get to take each week. I had my mat and change of clothes packed, but when I left the office I suddenly just didn’t want to go to class. It was insanely humid outside already. I wasn’t looking forward to getting home no earlier than 8:00 p.m., missing the group number of So You Think You Can Dance as I showered, and rushing to make dinner. I still wanted to do yoga, however, so instead I came home, took the laptop upstairs to my yoga room (which, given the weather, already felt like a hot yoga studio), and did a 75-minute Jivamukti podcast. I love that the classes are recorded live, so when I Om, other students are Omming along with me! (Many thanks to all the yoga teachers out there who record their classes and put them online; taking a “live” class is so much better than listening to someone speak into a microphone in a recording studio.) I still feel like I’m getting that community experience…plus it makes for a wild experience when the music the podcast teacher plays during savasana is the same as what my hot vinyasa teacher would have been playing at that time!
I was winging it, but that security blanket of familiarity was still rolled up under my knees, supporting me along the way.
“My fiancé sulked around the house this weekend after I told him I didn’t want to eat the same breakfast as he did,” my friend recounted. “He wanted bacon and eggs; I wanted a smoothie. We had to talk. I told him it’s like 5Rhythms.”
5Rhythms, a movement/dance modality, being used to neutralize a disagreement over opinions of what makes a good breakfast? How so?
Part of a 5Rhythms class is exploring moving with a partner. We’ll each be doing our own thing in, say, the rhythm of Staccato, and the instructor will tell us to find a partner. But the difference between partner work in 5Rhythms and that in other genres is that the two dancers don’t necessarily have to be on the same page. Maybe the person I pair up with is flailing every limb in double time and I’m having a good time subtly tapping my feet and bobbing my head. What happens then? Does one of us freak out? Does the instructor split us up and have us find more appropriate partners?
Of course not. We just dance. We grow to be comfortable in our differences and maybe, just maybe, find inspiration in the other’s movement, even if it’s just a certain way the partner flicks his wrist or rolls his hips. You think, “Hmm, that looks cool, let me try that.” ::tries new hip rolling thing:: “Nah, that doesn’t feel right on me.” The point is, you open your mind to some diversity, learn to live with it, and perhaps even try it out yourself. If it doesn’t feel right, then so be it.
As my instructor Richard always says while explaining the concept of partnering, “Oh, this person is smiling and having a good time, but I feel like shit. And that’s OK.” The point isn’t for the “good time” person to make the “shit” person turn into a smiling Fred Astaire, and it’s not the “shit” person’s place to drag his partner into his personal drama.
Smiling. Shit. Tango. Fox Trot. Bacon. Smoothie. Get it? Dare I say 5Rhythms is simply a moving metaphor for life?
So what my friend was trying to explain to her fiancé was that their weekend tradition of sitting down together for Sunday breakfast could still be accomplished peacefully, even if he wanted the lumberjack special and she the vegan’s liquid delight. It’s like those “Coexist” bumper stickers, except instead of a cross and Star of David theirs would have a Denny’s sign and a bundle of kale.
My friend’s story came at such an appropriate time too, because this past weekend I attended a 5Rhythms class that was heavy on partner work. Now, even though I can explain the concept of 5Rhythms partner work ever-so-eloquently, by no means am I the Princess Diana of working with others. Sometimes I’ll pair up with a tired-looking person, but I’m feeling awesome. I try my best not to be disappointed that they’re not able to match my energy levels, but yeah – it’s hard. It’s a challenge that’s better to hash out on the dance floor first, before something similar happens in real life and you flip out at someone on the subway or curse at a coworker.
At one point I was partnered with a woman whose loose and flowing dance was not at all syncing with my refined, precise movements. I acknowledged her and did my own movement, but then out of the corner of my eye I caught her doing a little foot thing…and I thought, “Hmm, maybe I want to try that foot thing too!” And I did, and I may not have copied it exactly, but what I had done was made a connection.
Later I was partnered with a woman who was just busting with energy, but after nearly 1.5 hours of dancing I was pretty exhausted and wasn’t feeling as bold as her…more balletic. Her moves made me feel guilty for taking it easy, but I had no energy! A few minutes into our dance, she passed me; we were back to back, and with that near-contact I felt a rush of energy, and suddenly I was inspired! Her one simple move was like a hit to the chest with a defibrillator, and I was shocked back into movement. From that moment on, I felt like our movement was complementary, rather than just individual steps executed simultaneously.
Then came the intense partner work. It started off simple: Stand back to back, with actual, physical contact. Feel your weight in your partner’s back. Shift weight. Then we were instructed to move to the floor, keeping in contact with each other.
Source: Andre Andreev, http://www.postnatyam.net
At first we simply danced with our backs, me rolling into a forward bend and my partner falling back for the ride. She exhaled — a long, audible sigh that sounded like she was collapsing onto the couch after a long day at the office. When it was my turn to drape over my partner’s spine, I released the same kind of exhalation. It was very humbling for a complete stranger to be giving me such a release, and it felt both awkward and totally awesome.
We then moved on to a kind of contact improv-esque dance, the instructor telling us to now move freely, but always remaining in contact in some way with the other. He cautioned us that not every move is going to look picture-perfect and that odd moments may come up when we do something that we think might work but ends up feeling weird and stilted. But that’s normal and OK, he said. Just keep moving.
We connected with each other at the hands, the arms, back to back, hand on head, head on neck, side to side. It’s times like these when I’m glad the dance studio has no mirrors, because even though we may be curious about what we look like, what shapes we’re forming, the visual appearance of our improvisational art is most likely not as “pretty” as it feels from the inside. The process felt organic, human, inquisitive, and exploratory; to outsiders, it probably looked like two people acting like bugs, crawling all over the place.
Source: Drue Sokol, http://www.campustimes.org
After class, we all agreed that the partner work had actually energized us. Most people approached the practice with apprehension but then later discovered that keeping contact with another human being gave them the stamina to finish the class. Perhaps the exchange of touch also meant an exchange of prana, chi, qi — life force?
We are all different ages and races. I live in the suburbs; other classmates live in the city. My partner is a chef; I’m an editor. How nice is it that we can all be so different but still move together — maybe not at the same pace or with identical movement — but with a certain kind of harmony, without colliding?
Sounds like an occasion that calls for a toast. With that, let’s raise our glasses of green smoothie (or our plate of bacon and eggs) and enjoy this meal together!
…is the one that results after you tell yourself, “Oh, lemme do just a few sun salutations before I start dinner,” and then an hour later–after Warrior lunges, balancing postures, belly-down back stretches, a shoulderstand-to-plough-to-fish, headstand, savasana, pranayama, and meditation–you emerge from your little yoga room physically hungry but otherwise incredibly satiated and satisfied.
I surprise myself; sometimes on days where I feel utterly lazy or low on energy, all it takes are a few sun salutes, a couple of medicine ball tosses, or a few minutes dancing to that song featured the night before on So You Think You Can Dance and suddenly I’m doing an hour-long yoga practice, playing around with my dumbbells and resistance bands, or throwing a full-blown dance party in my living room to songs from my Grooveshark playlist.
I can’t necessarily plan for spontaneity–it’s a bit of an oxymoron–but it’s good to know that some of the best workouts can emerge without intention or preparation. It doesn’t always work; sometime blasting my favorite dance songs generates nothing more than half-assed hip sways and limp shoulder rolls, but it’s worth giving it a shot. If there’s something there, all it may take is one little spark to get the engine going.
I had a family obligation yesterday morning that had me dressed in business attire and stuck in an office for 2 hours with another 2 hours on the road, which is torture in itself but even moreso when the sunny sky and warm temps made yesterday one of The Most Beautiful Days in the World. On the drive home, sitting in the car in my black pants and black blazer, I fidgeted like a kid before recess, declaring that all I wanted to do was change into my play clothes and frolic outside! All the usual demands of the weekend–laundry, cleaning, sorting through a week’s worth of mail–automatically switch to “low priority” when Mother Nature gives us a beaut like yesterday. I spend so much time in the winter complaining about the dark and cold that I feel like I have to take advantage of every awesome day that comes our way.
After grabbing lunch at one of my favorite juice and burrito cafes (no burrito juice, however) and changing out of my stuffy office attire, Bryan and I headed to Red Bank Battlefield, which I’ve written about on here before. It’s one of our favorite “nice day” places to hang out, a sprawling park on the edge of the Delaware River, directly across from Philadelphia International Airport (perfect for plane watching!).
A new plane every 90 seconds!
Obligatory couple shot.
Pre-pubescent goose and parent. Hasn't reached the "God, Mom, you're so embarrassing" stage yet.
Canada geese. You're so darn cute when you're little, but then you get older and we hate you.
Sun and skyline.
Vrksasana break!
While we were walking around the park, we noticed a wedding party posing for photographs. They couldn’t have chosen a better day to get hitched (especially since the world didn’t end, as predicted).
We toted along some blankets, chairs, books, and magazines for some quality riverside reading time. Bryan prepped the space…
…and then I promptly fell asleep. I had been awake since 5:15 and was dragging at that point. I always feel the urge to nap but rarely actually follow through with it. Yesterday was an exception: I conked out for close to an hour but was delighted to do so under a big tree and wearing a tank top without being chilly. This is the stuff I dream about from November through April.
Bryan likes to put lobsters on me while sleeping.
Days like yesterday are my fuel. They revive my engine, bring light into my heart, and make me focus on the positive. They remind me of all the good things I’ve been wanting to write about and share, stuff like:
• The mind and body studio in my gym is my secret getaway spot when the urge to dance calls. Every now and then, like this past Friday, I’ll be minding my own business, lifting weights, swinging a kettlebell, or stretching, and something on my iPod comes on that just hits me in the solar plexus, and suddenly my body says, “Dance! I must dance! Get thee to a wide open space and move, please!” It’s almost like a sickness, like a feeling of nausea that you know must exit soon, but not as gross. Just very urgent, and you know that if you hold it in, you’re going to feel (psychological) discomfort for the rest of the day. Luckily, my gym’s yoga studio was free that Friday afternoon, and I was able to sneak inside, pump up the volume on my iPod, and just dannnnnce. Twenty-five minutes later, I emerged a little sweatier and very satisfied.
• I am actually, like, 95% “cool” with my yoga teacher’s languaging. I tend to be very critical about what teachers say in class and how they say it (I can’t help it; I’m like the Larry David of yoga students), and if something irritates me too much for too long, I’ll turn to a podcast for class instead, like the one teacher who said “really” in almost every sentence (“Really feel your sitz bones pressing into the ground,” “Really lengthen the breath,” “Really press those feet into the mat and really feel alive”). But the teacher I go to now, aside from some “blossoming like a lotus” stuff she starts off with every now and then, is very mindful about her choice of words and what she says to the class. For example, there is a pregnant woman in the class, and as the teacher is showing her modifications she says, “Now, as the baby grows, you’re going to have to adjust your legs like this…” Notice it’s “as the baby grows,” not “as you get bigger.” Yeah, yeah, it’s the same thing, but I’m a semantics freak (and a woman), so I know how choice of words can make a huge difference. The teacher is also very careful not to showcase certain students; meaning, if someone goes into a perfect Bird of Paradise or scorpion, the teacher doesn’t blurt out, “Everyone, look at Heather! See, that’s how it should be done,” making those less flexible or with limitations feel inferior.
• My Fake Mom Carrol and her (real) daughter went to Kripalu this weekend for an R&R. Knowing how much I love the place, she sent me an e-mail yesterday (“Hi from Kripalu”) describing her afternoon yoga class, deep (emotionally and physically) massage, big changes, fresh whipped mango sauce, and a neti pot workshop. “Love carrol ( you are here in my heart and spirit can you feel it)?”, she closed. Instead of feeling jealous about her getaway, her e-mail made me so happy for her. Her daughter melted my heart, too. She tagged me on this photo she posted to Facebook:
"This one's for you, Jen!", Vee wrote from Kripalu.
• I’ve switched up my morning meditation a bit. Instead of sitting down and starting right away with a mudra meditation, I do 5 minutes of nadi shodhana pranayama (alternate nostril breathing), finish with solely right-nostril breathing (it’s the “solar” side; it’s a good early-morning energizer), and then do whatever mudra feels appropriate. Meditation is A LOT easier after opening the lungs and waking up those brain cells!
A soak in the hot tub at my gym last week had me thinking, “Am I a snob or just very disciplined?”
I had just finished a swimming workout and was winding down with a quick dip in the jacuzzi when women taking the aqua aerobics class began filtering into the pool area. They peeled off their outerwear, greeting each other with smiles and stories about the past week as they gingerly dipped their toes in the cool water. “Whatcha making for dinner tonight?” “How’s Bob and the kids?” “You’ll never believe where Helen is this week!” It was typical pre-class chit-chat, but the thing that raised my eyebrow was that it didn’t stop once class began.
The instructor turned on the stereo, cranking it full volume. The noise of the splashing water grew louder as the exercises started. The sound of gurgling bubbles from the jacuzzi competed with the pulsing music. The teacher yelled out instructions.
So much noise, and yet most of the women kept on talking, bringing their pre-class chats about dinner and Helen and Bob and the kids into the pool. They had to practically shout to be heard among each other, and as a result of being more engaged in conversation than exercise, their moves grew more and more limp and indifferent. They half-heartedly shimmied their torsos from side to side as the instructor demonstrated a powerful twist-and-hop move, clearly not listening and definitely not being very courteous to the other women in the pool who were there for a workout.
A white-haired woman in the front row caught my eye—she is me, age 70-something. She is in the front row, next to the instructor, because she wants to hear the exercises being called out. She is clearly set off from the coffee klatsch, her eyes focused ahead. She mimics the instructor’s moves, counting along, watching her form. She is wearing a fitness swimsuit, something from Speedo maybe, while the others are in frilly and floral bathing suits with skirts. The white-haired woman doesn’t once glance back at the peanut gallery behind her, although the somewhat exasperated look on her face indicates that she wishes everyone else would just shut up and pay attention already.
I sat there in the hot tub, fuming at the social butterflies who were disrupting class, as though I were actually that white-haired woman. I felt guilty for reacting like such a snob, but I was reminded that perhaps: “You’re just very disciplined.”
The utterance of the word sent me back to 4th grade, jazz dance class, in the studio rehearsing our annual recital number to Kylie Minogue’s “Locomotion.” The teacher was by the stereo, rewinding the cassette tape so we could practice the routine again. Jenna and Allison (pseudonyms, but OH I remember their real names) were talking, probably about boys or makeup or something “cool,” because they were a grade ahead of me. The teacher scolded them for talking, yet they got in trouble for the same thing over and over again, class after class. Maybe their parents sent them to dance class against their will; maybe being a serious student wasn’t “cool” to them. But I HATED Jenna and Allison. Why couldn’t they just be quiet and learn the dance?
My father videotaped one of my dance recital dress rehearsals once; this time I was a senior in high school. We had finished the first run-through of our tap routine and were hanging out on stage as the teacher gave notes. It’s all there on camera—a few chatty girls laughing and having their own little conversation on stage, and then me, diligently listening to the teacher, removed from the other fits of giggles breaking out around me, breaking concentration only once to practice a toe stand on my taps.
A tutu disciplined teenage ballerina
In general, the dance teachers I had in elementary and high school were pretty lax. They’d start class a few minutes late. They’d wouldn’t care if Jenna and Allison talked about their junior prom plans as they stood in line waiting to do hitch kicks across the floor.
But then one year a new ballet teacher was hired at the studio—not quite Phantom of the Opera strict, but very different from any other teacher we’d ever had. There was absolutely no talking during class. If you messed up, you had to do the combination again. She was old and didn’t care a lick about your junior prom. And you better be quiet while she was giving notes during dress rehearsal.
Everyone hated her. I LOVED her.
Of course, I pretended to hate her, to fit in with my peers. But inside…she was my dream teacher. I was there to dance, and she made sure that happened.
My parents weren’t paying a hefty tuition for a weekly Happy Hour. I wasn’t taking an hour out of my creative writing class homework every Thursday night to socialize. I was there to dance; I wanted to get it right; just cut the crap and get down to business.
As such, I have a tendency now to look a little snobbish when fellow classmates try to get all talky-talky during group-setting workouts. Maybe that’s why I have so much trouble with Zumba; I mean, aside from the high-impact moves that sometimes hurt my hips and knees, the class is VERY social. It’s advertised as a kind of dance party, and at a party you talk and gossip, right?
As for the chatty aqua aerobics women, I totally get that this may be their only form of exercise and that perhaps they’re there more for the social benefits than anything else. Research has proven over and over again that group exercise classes are beneficial for their social interaction qualities, but that doesn’t give everyone an excuse to slack off and work out their mouths more than their bodies, especially if there is time before and after class to hang out in the lobby. And especially if there are white-haired, disciplined students among them, trying hard to learn the aerobics move, yoga pose, or dance step. 🙂
What about y’all out there? Is your sense of discipline borderline snobbery? Or would you and I butt heads in a class?
Flowtation Devices 