Come on, come on, spin a little tighter
Here I go. Ensemble beach trip. Pack up the stuff, stare out the window. Ten minutes into the trip and I can make quite a list of the things I've forgotten. I try to match the ensemble coaches to their alter-ego gymnastics coaches, from the little I've learned so far. Angie would be a mix of Kelly (Strict, but if you listen you'll learn alot) and Simone (you can tell more so than with the others that she's actually a real person). Eileen seems a little like Karla (Mild personality, a bit more normal). I drifted off before I was able to place Jerri or JC.
On the beach. We dash across the hot sand and make little pits to dance in. Bugs try to tackle our feet. I never thought I'd have such a problem fixing my arms. But of course, I did, along with my back and my turn out and and and....
We play games to build team values or something, but we end up burying the flip flops we try to use to plot out the puzzle game. Then we move onto burying people, and feeling like little kids again. We try to play "Shark", but our ship breaks. I can handle as much as sticking a couple toes in the water before I freeze. God, even on the warmest days at the Oregon beaches...
Imaginary maggots attack the imaginary body on the cross we find as we walk to the showers. I finally learn to spin my flag for real. Even the urine-coloured silks look pretty when they move all together as one. We makes bracelets, in Southridge colours. I feel even more young as I string beads on a stretchy, clear noodle-like string. The other members don't let me sleep, as they play noisy games.
The next day we wake up and get ballet, across the floors, aerobics and stretching done before we eat lunch. Everyone's already tired. It's going to hurt tomorrow (it does).
Initiation was actually quite cool. But I'm not going to write about it here, or the sabers. It's a secret. We play One Jump, our little chant running though my head. Jump in, Jump out. You'd think a bunch of dancers would be able to jump rope properly. But no. The bugs that swarmed us yesterday are all dead today, forcing us to tiptoe around their dead bodies. Leaving weird tracks on the sand, I wonder what people think when they pass by our markings later that day.
Campfire on the beach. and Gina and I seclude ourselves from the rest of the group. Mostly, I think, because we were too tired to keep up with the rest of them. Talking about everything from the Food Network to sex and everything in between, waiting for the s'mores to be brought out. Gina is very similar to me. We both have a horrid sense of direction, that's for sure. We both have a few too many goals. We both like to work hard, and now I've acquired her cold. Thanks, love.
Finally we're allowed to have s'mores. We begin to tell ghost stories, scaring ourselves in the pitch-black darkness. Just a bunch of scared little high school dancers, that's us. What weird little girls we are sometimes.
Deathly sore upon waking. I look at Gina's icy hot, wondering if it's possibly to get enough of it to fill a tub and bathe with it. Hobbling around like old ladies, we clean up, like the girl scouts. "Leave it better than it was than when you got there". A stop at Cannon beach, for ice cream of course and a last look at the beach. Everyone falls asleep in the car once the laughing fits are over from I-don't-know-what.
I might've defeated the purpose of the beach bonding trip by hanging with Gina most of the time. I don't even know everyone's names. But as I untangle sails in the backyard after I get home, my body aching and my eyelids drooping, I know I'll remember this.
On the beach. We dash across the hot sand and make little pits to dance in. Bugs try to tackle our feet. I never thought I'd have such a problem fixing my arms. But of course, I did, along with my back and my turn out and and and....
We play games to build team values or something, but we end up burying the flip flops we try to use to plot out the puzzle game. Then we move onto burying people, and feeling like little kids again. We try to play "Shark", but our ship breaks. I can handle as much as sticking a couple toes in the water before I freeze. God, even on the warmest days at the Oregon beaches...
Imaginary maggots attack the imaginary body on the cross we find as we walk to the showers. I finally learn to spin my flag for real. Even the urine-coloured silks look pretty when they move all together as one. We makes bracelets, in Southridge colours. I feel even more young as I string beads on a stretchy, clear noodle-like string. The other members don't let me sleep, as they play noisy games.
The next day we wake up and get ballet, across the floors, aerobics and stretching done before we eat lunch. Everyone's already tired. It's going to hurt tomorrow (it does).
Initiation was actually quite cool. But I'm not going to write about it here, or the sabers. It's a secret. We play One Jump, our little chant running though my head. Jump in, Jump out. You'd think a bunch of dancers would be able to jump rope properly. But no. The bugs that swarmed us yesterday are all dead today, forcing us to tiptoe around their dead bodies. Leaving weird tracks on the sand, I wonder what people think when they pass by our markings later that day.
Campfire on the beach. and Gina and I seclude ourselves from the rest of the group. Mostly, I think, because we were too tired to keep up with the rest of them. Talking about everything from the Food Network to sex and everything in between, waiting for the s'mores to be brought out. Gina is very similar to me. We both have a horrid sense of direction, that's for sure. We both have a few too many goals. We both like to work hard, and now I've acquired her cold. Thanks, love.
Finally we're allowed to have s'mores. We begin to tell ghost stories, scaring ourselves in the pitch-black darkness. Just a bunch of scared little high school dancers, that's us. What weird little girls we are sometimes.
Deathly sore upon waking. I look at Gina's icy hot, wondering if it's possibly to get enough of it to fill a tub and bathe with it. Hobbling around like old ladies, we clean up, like the girl scouts. "Leave it better than it was than when you got there". A stop at Cannon beach, for ice cream of course and a last look at the beach. Everyone falls asleep in the car once the laughing fits are over from I-don't-know-what.
I might've defeated the purpose of the beach bonding trip by hanging with Gina most of the time. I don't even know everyone's names. But as I untangle sails in the backyard after I get home, my body aching and my eyelids drooping, I know I'll remember this.