My friend Amy has this cool little place called The Healing Chi and belly dancing classes started there last night.
I’ve been wanting to take belly dancing for about 10 years now, but the closest classes were probably a 45 minute drive. I wasn’t THAT committed to the idea.
But The Healing Chi is 10 minutes, if I stop for ice cream on the way there. It’s hard to say “no” to that.
The class was taught by a beautiful young woman named Rosie. I suspected that was an awesome sign of good things to come. It has to do with the name. There are not many of us and we are all incredibly cool. We are right up there with the Madonnas and Eloises and Colleens and Amelias of the world. (Yes, my daughter has two of the coolest names.) Don’t try to dispute this. It’s a fact.
So, I thought we were off on the right foot with Rosie the belly dancing teacher, but that’s when the torture began.
First, she tried to teach us this rather unnatural move called a head slide that makes it look like your head is disengaged from your body and operating independent of your central nervous system. I am fairly certain my lack of ability to immediately master this very slight, yet important, move is due to years of repeated, self-inflicted whiplash incurred during headbanging rock concerts. My mom was right: I really should have been more careful and a lot less stupid. I am going to need a massage, intense stretching, a few cortisone shots, muscle relaxers and half a bottle of whiskey before I attempt this again.
Then, somehow, she managed to squeeze in 13 1/2 hours of shoulder rolls into an hour long class. My right shoulder was injured in October when I decided to roll down some stairs and I have not yet been able to convince myself to seek medical intervention. (Save the lectures; you try having a personal medical staff of 3,245 people, squeezing all of those appointments in between work, motherhood, field trips, Brownies, 4-H, and ignoring the laundry and see how fast you volunteer for an MRI of something that only hurts when you reach for the remote or wash dishes.) So, my right shoulder was VERY unhappy about the intense shoulder moves we were doing.
And the obliques. Dear God, don’t get me started on the obliques.
I’m not sure exactly what the obliques are or how many we have, but I can feel every one of them today. I think I can feel a few that I don’t even have.
But let me tell you, if working the obliques is going to change how my tummy looks after 3 1/2 years of Tamoxifen, then bring on the abuse.
Interestingly enough, by the end of class, we all looked like this: