I'm convinced that a treadmill will never help me shed pounds. I stare it down at the gym and it stares right back. We take a walk together and after five minutes I'm ready to jump ship and haul my ass over to Dunkin Donuts. Absolute boredom drives me to food. It's inevitable.
Because of my allergic reaction to anything stationary, I started a mission which I had contemplated months ago, to try new forms of exercise. You already know about the Yoga experience (read prior entry), so this time around I went for something a little more lively and a little less stretchy. Dancing. I love it, it seems to love me, how could it not work?
At my sweet 16 I was caught on tape trying to dance to salsa music with my uncle, instead I was actually a mess of flailing arms and legs. A few years later while in college, I dated a salsero... Thank the Lord Almighty for bringing him into my life, who knows what kind of fool I would be on the dance floor were it not for him. With many private dance lessons under the belt, I've sharpened the skills and can say I'm pretty good. However, I had no idea what to expect from a dance class so I decided enrolling in a beginner's course would be best.
By word of mouth, I came across this dance school www.eddietorres.com and on Tuesday made it a point to at least try. On 54th street I came to the building marked on the site and jumped into an elevator with a woman that happened to be the instructor, Maria. I followed her and a student to the studio where 3 or 4 other women awaited us.
Great! There's hardly anyone here, and on top of that no men! How will I learn to be lead?
I waited outside for some time to pass and with it (to my relief) arrived a ton of people, both male and female. I paid my $15 fee (quite a bargain for 2 hours), eyed a guy that I SWEAR I know from somewhere and took my place in the back of the class. Within the first 15 minutes the room filled to at least 50 people. Ages ranged from 20s to 40s and there were enough ethnicities to make up a mock UN.
Maria wiggled her way to the front of the room and belted out, "To all my newbies, welcome! To all my regulars, you better not let me down show them I know how to teach!" And so she began leading us into a 1-2-3-(pause) 5-6-7 , immediately I was thrown off because I never COUNT when I dance, I just ...dance (gasp!) After tripping over myself, I regained my composure and repeatedly reminded myself that I knew how to do this.
When I learned to ignore the awkwardness of counting, I was able to get the hang of the steps and quickly caught on to everything that followed. My eyes fluttered sideways to a man who couldn't grasp the concept of not moving both of your feet at the same time. I wanted to help him but Maria shouted, "Turn p'alla! (i can't spell spanish). Which means... p'alla!" No, I didn't hear her wrong, Maria had no intention of translating everything for us. While, I'm lucky enough to know some basic Spanish (p'alla translates into "over there"), there were some people who didn't have a clue and, missing the command to turn bumped squarely into their neighbors, ouch.
After spending an hour on learning a short routine, my heart was racing and the sweat was reaching the surface. I smiled at my aching thighs and knew I'd made the right exercise decision. Until I realized there was still an hour to go. How would I be able to walk after this?
The second hour was dedicated to partner work. Everyone was pretty open to sharing any partners they had come with so we formed a "musical partners" assembly line of sorts where the women stayed put and the men rotated. The level of dancing talent these men possessed varied so greatly that I was either running the risk of falling over and cracking my head from their inability to keep a beat, or I was turning beet red from the embarrassment of not being able to keep up.
I was twirled and tossed until my hair was a mess, but I loved every minute of it. There was not one man who I danced perfectly with and I saw this as a blessing, it made me dance harder. The one dude I swear I knew finally rotated into my partnership and I asked him if he had gone to Rutgers, "cause I swear I know you from somewhere." "Nope, I didn't. Are you Dominican?" I'm not sure how that was going to narrow down where we knew each other from, but we had to rotate again before finding out.
At 10 p.m. (30 mins after we were scheduled to end), Maria finally began to close down shop. I collected my stuff, and sashayed outta there like Jennifer Beals with a sweatshirt cutoff. Ain't not stopping me now, I'm on the move! As I walked to my train I took each step with a 1,2,3(pause) 5,6,7 .. and never tripped once..
Maybe this counting thing isn't so bad after all...
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Ay yo! Yogie!
For the past few weeks I've been awaiting a date with my boss. Trying to catch her for dinner is as easy as trying to have a sit down with the President. All weekend prior I went over my speech about the possibility of moving and when it came to it, Monday morning I was all systems go, awaiting my fate. That is until she emailed me to tell me her daughter would be joining us. Damn! On any other day I would have welcomed the addition, but I couldn't imagine speaking to my boss with her adorable 13 year old staring at me in disbelief.
Oh and there would be a Yoga class prior to our dinner. Yes, Yoga. The artistic form of working out which I had never before experienced. I became fearful. I am in no way flexible nor do I have good balance. I'm a walking klutz. This was going to be disasterous! When I met up with my boss's daughter, Jane, at the office she too expressed her nervousness.
"I'm not going to have a clue as to what I'm doing," she said.
"Well your no clue is about five steps up from how I'll probably kill myself trying."
Six pm approached, my boss herded us and together we sped walked to Exhale Spa. From the moment I walked in I knew I was done for. Soft mediation music played, aromatherapy scents swam through the air, and surrounding Yoga participants spoke in what I call Yoganese (some language I don't get -- what is a chamarunga?). The place smelled expensive and when I saw my boss hand over her credit card for mine and Jane's entry I almost wanted to grab it and tell her not to bother. I was about to make a fool of her. Before I could say anything Jane grabbed my hand and rushed me to the women's locker room.
Women were changing into their yoga apparel and I silently pouted at the idea of having to display my fat ass not only in front of them but in front of my own boss... a woman I admire, a woman I respect, and the last woman I would ever want to see my cellulite. Eck! I had no choice, I stripped down to the tightie whities and jumped into my sweats as fast as I could. Luckily, the whole ordeal only took a few minutes and we were quickly on our way into the studio.
The three of us walked into the studio with our mats and my boss quickly made her way to the front of the room. I shot a worried look at Jane. "What is she doing? Come back here!" I shout-whispered. But, she didn't hear me and so we followed. Placing our mats in a row, we took our spots in the absolute front of the class. My boss turned to me, "Oh by the way, this is a 2-3 level class, but don't worry I won't know what I'm doing either." Somehow that only made me feel worse.
At least I had Jane. I looked over at her and saw her bending like a pretzel and standing on the tips of her toes ballerina style. SHIT! I had totally forgotten she's a dancer. My boss has experience and Jane has the credentials to learn. Me, I ain't got shit except fear! God help me!
The instructor, a tall muscular Asian man, came to the front of the class and sat Indian-style on a mat next to Jane. "Ok, everyone together let's release..."
On cue everyone surrounding me, except for my boss and Jane, began to moan together. Yea, moan like "ohhhhhmmmmmm". Oh come on! I can't keep serious through this! I started to cough because it was the only way I could mask the onslaught of laughs that were on their way up my throat. My coughing caused my boss to start coughing, but I knew her sudden attack was about as genuine as mine and so... I release a huge puff laugh, the kind where your lips vibrate as a burst of laugh air comes flying out. My boss started to cough louder and I was sure that as the instructor made his way over to us that he was ready to give us the softspoken direction to get the fuck out of his studio. Instead, he rubbed my boss's back and told her if she needed water there was a fountain outside of the studio. We were safe, as long as I could keep the gigglefest down.
The laughter quickly subsided as the instructor lead us into twists, turns, lunges and jumps that left me without my breath time and time again. This isn't relaxing, this is fucking torture! My boss struggled, but was semi used to the treatment and Jane, forget it! She was the star student, twisting her head under her leg while pulling her toe straight in front of her.. WHAT? With ever new position ("Ok, now turn into Warrior Stance 1" huh?), the instructor would come over, pull my hips, push my ass down and then walk away shaking his head. I was hopeless, but I refused to give up.
An hour later we were instructed to lie down on our mats and freestyle stretch. I raised my lower body into the air and laid my arms out to the side.
"What's that?" Jane asked.
"I call this the palm tree."
She frowned at me and went back to backward arch flippy things. Then the lights dimmed and we were instructed to lay down and rest. Finally, something I can do! Just when I was about to start snoring, the lights came back on and the class was over. We rolled up our mats and limped back to the locker room, or maybe it was just me limping.
All the way to dinner and most of the way through it we laughed about our experience and, not surprisingly, I was the butt of most jokes. No hard feelings, it was pretty damn funny. As I laughed with Jane and my boss, I kept shut about my original motives for the dinner. There was just never a time. I'm not sure when there will be...
A few days later we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and my boss emailed me "When I say what I'm thankful for tomorrow one of the things will be you." I told her "ditto" and I meant it. How do I leave a boss like this? How do I stay?
Oh and there would be a Yoga class prior to our dinner. Yes, Yoga. The artistic form of working out which I had never before experienced. I became fearful. I am in no way flexible nor do I have good balance. I'm a walking klutz. This was going to be disasterous! When I met up with my boss's daughter, Jane, at the office she too expressed her nervousness.
"I'm not going to have a clue as to what I'm doing," she said.
"Well your no clue is about five steps up from how I'll probably kill myself trying."
Six pm approached, my boss herded us and together we sped walked to Exhale Spa. From the moment I walked in I knew I was done for. Soft mediation music played, aromatherapy scents swam through the air, and surrounding Yoga participants spoke in what I call Yoganese (some language I don't get -- what is a chamarunga?). The place smelled expensive and when I saw my boss hand over her credit card for mine and Jane's entry I almost wanted to grab it and tell her not to bother. I was about to make a fool of her. Before I could say anything Jane grabbed my hand and rushed me to the women's locker room.
Women were changing into their yoga apparel and I silently pouted at the idea of having to display my fat ass not only in front of them but in front of my own boss... a woman I admire, a woman I respect, and the last woman I would ever want to see my cellulite. Eck! I had no choice, I stripped down to the tightie whities and jumped into my sweats as fast as I could. Luckily, the whole ordeal only took a few minutes and we were quickly on our way into the studio.
The three of us walked into the studio with our mats and my boss quickly made her way to the front of the room. I shot a worried look at Jane. "What is she doing? Come back here!" I shout-whispered. But, she didn't hear me and so we followed. Placing our mats in a row, we took our spots in the absolute front of the class. My boss turned to me, "Oh by the way, this is a 2-3 level class, but don't worry I won't know what I'm doing either." Somehow that only made me feel worse.
At least I had Jane. I looked over at her and saw her bending like a pretzel and standing on the tips of her toes ballerina style. SHIT! I had totally forgotten she's a dancer. My boss has experience and Jane has the credentials to learn. Me, I ain't got shit except fear! God help me!
The instructor, a tall muscular Asian man, came to the front of the class and sat Indian-style on a mat next to Jane. "Ok, everyone together let's release..."
On cue everyone surrounding me, except for my boss and Jane, began to moan together. Yea, moan like "ohhhhhmmmmmm". Oh come on! I can't keep serious through this! I started to cough because it was the only way I could mask the onslaught of laughs that were on their way up my throat. My coughing caused my boss to start coughing, but I knew her sudden attack was about as genuine as mine and so... I release a huge puff laugh, the kind where your lips vibrate as a burst of laugh air comes flying out. My boss started to cough louder and I was sure that as the instructor made his way over to us that he was ready to give us the softspoken direction to get the fuck out of his studio. Instead, he rubbed my boss's back and told her if she needed water there was a fountain outside of the studio. We were safe, as long as I could keep the gigglefest down.
The laughter quickly subsided as the instructor lead us into twists, turns, lunges and jumps that left me without my breath time and time again. This isn't relaxing, this is fucking torture! My boss struggled, but was semi used to the treatment and Jane, forget it! She was the star student, twisting her head under her leg while pulling her toe straight in front of her.. WHAT? With ever new position ("Ok, now turn into Warrior Stance 1" huh?), the instructor would come over, pull my hips, push my ass down and then walk away shaking his head. I was hopeless, but I refused to give up.
An hour later we were instructed to lie down on our mats and freestyle stretch. I raised my lower body into the air and laid my arms out to the side.
"What's that?" Jane asked.
"I call this the palm tree."
She frowned at me and went back to backward arch flippy things. Then the lights dimmed and we were instructed to lay down and rest. Finally, something I can do! Just when I was about to start snoring, the lights came back on and the class was over. We rolled up our mats and limped back to the locker room, or maybe it was just me limping.
All the way to dinner and most of the way through it we laughed about our experience and, not surprisingly, I was the butt of most jokes. No hard feelings, it was pretty damn funny. As I laughed with Jane and my boss, I kept shut about my original motives for the dinner. There was just never a time. I'm not sure when there will be...
A few days later we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and my boss emailed me "When I say what I'm thankful for tomorrow one of the things will be you." I told her "ditto" and I meant it. How do I leave a boss like this? How do I stay?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Quarter-century my ass!
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