How did I do that?
So today, for the first time in my life, I did a handstand.
I took gymnastics as a kid, up until I was ... maybe 10 or 11, I guess. I was reading Baby-Sitters' Club books and trying to become a better ice skater, I think. Also, they started asking me to do things I couldn't. Like handstands. "Practice on your own," they said. "They're easier in the pool." I can remember standing by myself in the shallow end at Ridgeland, preparing myself time and again to duck underwater before trying to kick off. It never worked. Even the reduced pressure was too much for me. See, when I was little? I was a stick. Underweight for a good couple years. I couldn't even float -- my legs would start drifting under the surface of the water and I'd have to either kick or flip over, both of which defeat the purpose of floating. And my arm muscles never really established their presence -- I still can't even do modified push-ups. Handstands were not for me -- even headstands were difficult. So I dropped the whole gymnastics deal. A couple of years later, I dropped ice skating and confirmed my status as an Indoor Kid. (Not that, you know, gymnastics and ice skating ever took place outdoors. But still.)
Two weeks ago in yoga, the professor decided we should do handstands against the wall. The girl I was partnered with freaked out -- apparently, she had to do these on her own in her cheerleading days, and had a lot of bad associated memories. I could understand that. We both kicked off halfheartedly and never made it all the way up the wall.
This week, I was partnered with another girl, who was more into the idea. She tried and kicked and eventually made it up there. I bounced up and down and didn't make it. Handstand Time was almost over, and we were going to move into shoulder stands when my partner called the professor over. He watched and told me I needed to be kicking more. Yes, I thought, but if I do that I'll hit my head. But for his sake, I kicked a little harder. The next thing I knew, a pair of hands were pushing my legs against the wall, and a voice was telling me to press my spine back.
We did shoulder stands after that. Somehow, I've always been able to do them without ever really knowing what they were. (If you've never done them -- they're way easier than they look.) And I nearly -- nearly -- pulled off the trick I was able to do in sixth grade, when we had to do a report on a sport and I did mine on yoga.
Off to the gym. Maybe I'll be able to bike for more than 10 miles this time. (Seriously, every time I've been to the gym, I apparently bike exactly the same distance. Is that a thing, or am I just not pushing myself enough?) Next week, we're doing Angry Yoga, so I have to make sure I'm ready.
Times like this, I wish I didn't have a roommate, just so I could have a dance party.
I took gymnastics as a kid, up until I was ... maybe 10 or 11, I guess. I was reading Baby-Sitters' Club books and trying to become a better ice skater, I think. Also, they started asking me to do things I couldn't. Like handstands. "Practice on your own," they said. "They're easier in the pool." I can remember standing by myself in the shallow end at Ridgeland, preparing myself time and again to duck underwater before trying to kick off. It never worked. Even the reduced pressure was too much for me. See, when I was little? I was a stick. Underweight for a good couple years. I couldn't even float -- my legs would start drifting under the surface of the water and I'd have to either kick or flip over, both of which defeat the purpose of floating. And my arm muscles never really established their presence -- I still can't even do modified push-ups. Handstands were not for me -- even headstands were difficult. So I dropped the whole gymnastics deal. A couple of years later, I dropped ice skating and confirmed my status as an Indoor Kid. (Not that, you know, gymnastics and ice skating ever took place outdoors. But still.)
Two weeks ago in yoga, the professor decided we should do handstands against the wall. The girl I was partnered with freaked out -- apparently, she had to do these on her own in her cheerleading days, and had a lot of bad associated memories. I could understand that. We both kicked off halfheartedly and never made it all the way up the wall.
This week, I was partnered with another girl, who was more into the idea. She tried and kicked and eventually made it up there. I bounced up and down and didn't make it. Handstand Time was almost over, and we were going to move into shoulder stands when my partner called the professor over. He watched and told me I needed to be kicking more. Yes, I thought, but if I do that I'll hit my head. But for his sake, I kicked a little harder. The next thing I knew, a pair of hands were pushing my legs against the wall, and a voice was telling me to press my spine back.
We did shoulder stands after that. Somehow, I've always been able to do them without ever really knowing what they were. (If you've never done them -- they're way easier than they look.) And I nearly -- nearly -- pulled off the trick I was able to do in sixth grade, when we had to do a report on a sport and I did mine on yoga.
Off to the gym. Maybe I'll be able to bike for more than 10 miles this time. (Seriously, every time I've been to the gym, I apparently bike exactly the same distance. Is that a thing, or am I just not pushing myself enough?) Next week, we're doing Angry Yoga, so I have to make sure I'm ready.
Times like this, I wish I didn't have a roommate, just so I could have a dance party.