At Crossroads

Things my new dance teacher (Joanne) shouted at me tonight:

• Take your time!
  
• Hop back two three!
  
• Knee, knee, knee!!
  
• Straight legs!
  
• Pull UP! UP!
  
• Cross your feet!
  
• And turn your toes out.
  
• Think about where your weight is. Which leg are you on?
  
• LOOK AT YOUR KNEE!
  
• Slow down!

I need to:

• Stop babying my right ankle and bending my knee when I come down from jumps.
  
• Have some more confidence in my dancing.
  
• But also get over myself and stop thinking I'm hot shit and should grasp steps instantly from divination.
  
• Get used to dancing with distractions.
  
• Practice like a mofo this week.

I am:

• Seriously out of shape.
  
• Lazy with my pointing my toes.
  
• Sore.
  
• Minging.
  
• Exhausted.
  
• Frustrated.
  
• Overly critical of myself.
  
• Inspired.
  
• Happy.

My new dance teacher is tough. I like that about her. Last week she threw me in the mix super quick and had me learn their second slip jig step. And tonight she had me learning the first step and continuing on the second step. Slip jigs are hard (but my favorite) and these steps are especially tricky because she has a different dance style than Colleen and the Coyle school. The hardest thing is her cuts. She hates, and I mean HATES that I open my hip up during cuts. Which is what I thought I was supposed to be doing and so I practiced it wrong all week. It's also how I learned it with Coyle. This is one of the biggest style differences between the two schools and seeing my hip open is tantamount to fingernails on a chalkboard for Joanne. It's going to take a lot of practice and patience to get this right.

Joanne doesn't lead the class like a normal class. Instead we're all broken into groups around the room, each doing our own thing. This is both good (everyone moving and working at their own pace) and bad (very distracting, especially with different music and hard shoe dancing). Joanne meanwhile moves about the room watching dancers and working with them bit by bit. She has eyes on the back of her head though, and half the stuff she yelled at me, she yelled from across the room. I am very encouraged by the other dancers in the class, who all seem very talented and proficient. Some of the girls getting ready for the feis in two weeks were amazing at their treble jigs tonight, and I'm excited for when I get to their level. I also learned that two of Joanne's students are going for their TCRGs, a rigorous process to say the least, and this I also find very inspiring and encouraging about the school.

I got to class early tonight and Joanne and I worked together briefly to go over the first slip jig step. When I didn't do it perfectly after the first time and got frustrated, Joanne berated me slightly, "Well you only learned it 35 seconds ago! Give yourself a break!." It is so much harder this time around, but I can only imagine it will be that much more rewarding.

I have a lot of work ahead of me.

Reel Bad

I realize that this is becoming an all-dance blog, but forgive me. It's one of the most interesting things I'm doing lately and I'm excited about it. It's either this, or talk about how mushy and lovey (i.e., gross) things have become with the Scotsman.* So you're going to have to deal with some dancing talk.

Last night we learned the treble reel. I was not good at it.

I'm not being falsely modest either. The entire night was rough for me, actually. It became abundantly clear that I had spent too little time (or uh, no time at all) practicing between last week's class and this week's class. I fucked up both jig steps, twice. Ouch.

I could make excuses about not having space to practice (which I don't) or being seriously tired going into class last night (which I was), but the fact is, I barely spent any time thinking about those jig steps in the past week. No, I was too busy obsessing over treble jigs, wondering if I could teach myself toe stands, daydreaming about fiesanna, and being antsy about learning slip jigs and hornpipes. I forgot the fundamentals. Which, if you recall, is the whole reason I was doing this McDade workshop. The fact is, I can't be good at treble jigs or slip jigs if I'm not good at single jigs. I can't be good at hard shoe unless I'm proficient in soft shoe.

It's times like this that I wish I had a hard-ass teacher. Sheila is good and all, but how hard-ass is she going to get with us during a 4-week workshop? Had I messed up those jig steps back in the day with Coyle, I have no doubt that Colleen would have made me done them over and over and over until I made it through at least three times in a row with no mistakes. And then she'd make me do it once more "for luck." I once joked and called Colleen a "slave driver," but I meant it in a good way. Her slave driving made me into a solid dancer. I'm hoping for some of that at Timoney.

In the meantime, I need to try to find some space to practice and spend time thinking about the steps. Something I used to do a lot of and I think Irish dancers do – or who knows, maybe all dancers do – is to sing their steps. Singing steps works well for Irish dancing because you have 8 bars of music that goes along with it. In singing steps, you not only memorize the actions, but it also helps you find the rhythm of dance and how it fits to music. Sometimes just listening to Irish music I have trouble recognizing if a song is a jig or reel...until I start singing my steps to it. 10 years later I still know all of my Coyle steps because I spent so much time singing them. It helps with the concentration, which I seriously lacked last night.

Learning the treble reel was tricky. The motions my feet make are actually quite easy. It's the speed and rhythm I'm having issues with. Namely that I can't hear how it fits with the music. This is problematic. I got a quick taste of how those in the class who've never danced must feel when we put regular jig steps to music because I was lost. It's wickedly fast and eventually I stopped trying to dance it and just tried watching others so I could figure out how it breaks down with the music.

In the meantime, it was probably good for me to get knocked down a peg with this class. I was feeling a little cocky and getting ahead of myself. Deep breath. Let's try it again, concentrating on fundamentals.

*Seriously you guys, head over heels.

Owowowow

I just had my first dancing class and all I can say is: OW.

I am so ridiculously out of shape, the warm up alone took a lot out of me. Making matters worse, there are large mirrors along one side of the studio. When I was dancing before we were dancing in church basements and fire halls, not fancy studios, so I find mirrors a bit distracting at first. But after a few minutes, I can usually focus enough to ignore the mirror completely.

However.

What I could not ignore was the reflection of every part of me jiggling: tummy, thighs, etc. Ugh. I can't believe that I've let myself get this overweight.

No matter. Dance classes are a part of trying to control and reduce that weight, so already I feel better about it. But for vanity's sake next week I will wear a looser t-shirt and longer shorts/pants. Good grief.

The class is large, and a nice mix of people who've never danced before and people who have. We didn't go around saying our names, backgrounds, or anything so I have no idea who anyone is. As we were leaving class, I thought I detected some Irish accents among three of the ladies, so it seems we have some authentics in this class. We also have a boy!

Having a guy in the class is sort of exciting for me because they're so rare – at least in my old school. I think at Coyle we had maybe two boys. And one of them was my cousin, Sean. Any guy who gets into Irish dancing is smart because the ratio is so awesome (in my class tonight, it was 26-1), so he can have his pick of the ladies.

This guy is somewhere around my age or younger, and you can tell he's previously danced or still currently dances. He seemed chummy with several of he girls already and they all seemed to know the instructor. So maybe he does/did dance with McDade? In any event, boy has jumps to die for – excellent height, fantastic control. Also: Calves of rock. It made me long for my calves in high school, which used to be so muscular and slender.

Since I'm looking at this class as a primer for beginning with Timoney in June, I tried really hard to focus on small things throughout the class: pointing my toes, my posture, turning my toes out, kicking up high in the back. Which is, admittedly, hard when you're just starting up again after 10 years (oy).

The class moved quickly: warm up, jump-2-3's, simple soft jig step, beginnings of a ceili dance (High Caul Cap, which I know I learned with Coyle, but for the life of me could not remember). The class just whizzed by, and even with my out-of-shape, dumpy self, I couldn't believe it when the instructor said the class was over. Further proof that I need a class environment and fun movement to trick myself into exercising. Because for me an hour at the gym is an eternity, but I was begging for more after this class.

I came home and had so much pent-up energy from the class, I pulled out my Jean Butler Masterclass DVD. Jean Butler* is the former principle dancer from Riverdance, and while the DVD can be used by anyone, it's really beneficial to dancers because she breaks down a lot of the fundamental components of Irish dance steps. She has whole workouts devoted to toe points and arches or leg lifts and balance. It's really something I should have been doing all along, but I rarely pull this out because I lack proper space to truly dance. Finding space in my apartment to practice is really tough and truly frustrating. Still I did the best I could in my bedroom.


Already I can feel my legs stiffening up, and I know tomorrow I will be hobbling about the office. The other thing that happened in class tonight is that during some routine 7's in the ceili, I landed wrong on my weak ankle – the right ankle, the one I badly sprained in my final year of dancing. I was able to recover quickly, but this serves as a lesson that I should probably start doing ankle exercised daily and maybe think about wrapping it for the next class.

So to recap: Dancing fun but my body needs to slim down. I feel clunky and sore, but happy and exhilarated. Siamsa!

*My fun Jean Butler story: My first feis (competition) ever, the authenticator was Jean Butler's teacher. Needless to say, I was geeked and intimidated, and add onto that, a bundle of nerves about my first ever competition. I ended up taking three first places (jig, reel, hornpipe) and one second place (slip jig) in the competition, which still makes me proud to this day. I don't know if this is a reflection of me or the other dancers, but I still can crow that Jean Butler's teacher liked me the best in three dances!

Less than two weeks 'til I get my heels up

I bit the bullet and signed up for Irish step dancing lessons again.

As it will come as no surprise to you all, I've been itching to do this for AGES. In February I discovered the Timoney School in Glenside takes adults and that was it. It was all a matter of getting together with some money to make it happen.

And then, an inquiry I sent out over a year ago came back to me from the McDade School – which happens to be one of the most respected dance schools in the area – saying they were offering a month-long workshop for adults. I can remember dancing against McDade in feiseanna and what tough competitors they were. So I thought I would take this workshop with them to get myself back in fighting condition before starting full time with Timoney.

One thing I am super-excited about with Timoney is that they offer both step dancing and ceili dancing instruction. A lot of places that teach adults only teach ceili dances, which are fun and all, but doesn't include all the dances I love – slip jig, treble jig, hornpipe, etc.

I just plunked down $50 for a new set of soft shoes, as my old shoes have cracked soles and holes beginning in the leather. Let me just tell you, the price of shoes hasn't gone down at all. It was hard to resist the siren call of the fancy $65 soft shoes, which look like they're so supportive and give you amazing arches, but I just can't reason spending that much money on what is, essentially, a slipper. I will probably need a new set of hard shoes as well, but I think that $140 investment can wait a bit.

You guys, I am unbelievably stoked about this. I am considerably more dumpling-shaped than I was when I was dancing (...oh Christ...) 10 years ago, but I am hopeful that getting back into dancing will help slim and trim and make me want to work out more (as well as fool me into working out since I hate going to the gym).

I also have some other creative juices flowing with this whole dance thing, I'll keep you posted if I can get it together to do this/get what I want.

===

In other Irish-like news, Inis Nua's latest show, Bedbound is getting some seriously good press.

The play itself is sort of depressing, but in typical Inis Nua fashion, it's also funny, hopeful and weirdly beautiful. It's also ambitious, having the most expensive set in Inis Nua's history, complete with a wowwee special effect.



Toby Zinman of the Philadelphia Inquirer said that it was a "thrilling, searing production" and then went on to say this:

Inis Nua ("New Island" in Gaelic) keeps providing us with startling new theatrical voices from England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Tom Reing has tapped into a deep wellspring, giving us playwright after playwright we might never have otherwise seen or heard. Bedbound is one not to miss.

I KNOW. Isn't that just one of the most flattering paragraphs to read? I am so proud of my brother!



Bedbound has three more shows left. You should go see it.

I feel like Inis Nua is on the verge of some pivotal awesomeness. They keep getting better and better, and next year's season is going to be amazing. I feel privileged to be apart of it, even in my small web maintenance/photography way. They're planning to mount Dublin by Lamplight, which is a play my brother has been itching to do even before Inis Nua had been developed. Speaking of which, Inis Nua has found a donor willing to DOUBLE any donations made to the theatre in the coming year, and if they want to do Dublin by Lamplight, they are going to need it. Won't you consider helping out a bit?

Jiggly Bits

Recently, I noticed that I'm sort of...squishier than I used to be. Like, I've never been a bean pole or cut or anything (I've always been a bit plump), but I had skimmed down last spring (It all went to hell in late summer), and then re-adjusted slightly while I was in the UK because I was walking everywhere. But as the cold months blew in (along with the holidays), I have found myself where I am every winter: Curled up with something starchy and/or cheesy to help pack on blubber for these cold, cold winter months.

Not helping is the fact that it's also hibernation time — I get so lazy and blue this time of year. It's dark, it's cold, all I want to do is hunker down under blankets with books and kitties.

Normally I would let this phase pass and come spring jump into action eating better with more fresh produce and going out and doing shit. However...Brisket.

I find myself getting quite self-conscious. Like, using candles not because they're romantic, but because provide softer light and my cellulite isn't as easily visible. Doing that ridiculous stomach-suck thing to make him think that I do not, in fact, have a squashy fat roll of sadness around my middle.

Brisket, of course, hasn't said anything nor behaved in any manner that would make me think he's noticed nor cared if he did. Someone once told me that sexiness is about confidence, which I believe is true. If I work what I got, he won't notice what I don't have (namely, a tiny waist). However, it's hard to be confident when we're snuggling and all of the sudden his hand finds his way to my stomach and ohmygod he's TOUCHING the ROLL and the CREASE and Christ, I'm all lardy and oh god oh god. And then I have a mental freak out followed by a mini come-to-Jesus with myself, all silent and secret-like in the space of 25 seconds so he won't think I'm a neurotic freak show. Which of course, I am.

All of this by way of saying that I've signed up for this* in May and starting TONIGHT, DAMNIT, I am beginning training. Jiggly bits shall be no more.

Any help and motivation you can give me — aside from 80s telling me I'm a fatty because I know I'm a fatty, I mean something constructive — would be appreciated.

*The 5K. Not the Half-marathon. I'm not completely insane.

5K redux

HOLY CRAP, THERE WERE A LOT OF FREAKIN HILLS.

I ended up walking a lot more than I would have liked, especially at the final hill, which was deemed "The Beast." No fucking kidding.

Still, I finished it. I had mentally (and foolishly) hoped to do it in 40 minutes. I ended up doing it in 48.

The best part of the race? The end, when I got to go to Su Tao for fabulous dinner.

Oh God, now Stephanie wants me to do more of them with her.

I'm gonna be a Slowski, like those turtles on TV

I went to the doctor's today (you don't even want to KNOW, but rest assured that for the most part everything is OK), and she took me task for my weight.

"I can see that you've lost weight since I last saw you, and that's good. But you need to loose more. Keep going."

Then she told me what my current weight is (I try to avoid scales as they are both evil and depressing), and people, I nearly died. I'm not revealing the actual number here, but suffice to say, it's roughly 5 pounds short of a beached whale.

I felt kind of depressed for a little while (see what scales and numbers do to me?), but then I had a "sack up, ho" conversation with myself. Because you know what? I've been slacking the last couple of weeks, erm... months. I've been going to the gym only once or twice a week at most and I've been really bad about what foods I've eaten (I am sure that the NJ Fair did not help) and I know I've gained weight back.

So OK. Time to get on point again, or whatever. Now that Gary's going to be living with me, I have someone else to eat vegetables with. And by vegetables, I mean things that do not fall in the category of "corn" or "romaine lettuce drenched in Caesar dressing," the only two vegetables I've ever seen Mike eat.

Because at the end of the day, it's not about how I look or what I fit into. It's about being healthy, dammit. And so in that spirit, I'm signing up for this.

It's my first 5K run, ever. I don't know how well I'll do, since the closest I've come to running one is the 3.5 miles I do on the elliptical at the gym, which is quite a different impact. Also, I hate running. I really do. I don't get people who run, for like, pleasure. You people are weird. But running is good exercise, and if it will help divorce me from my relationship with fat rolls of sadness, then so be it. I figure I'll "train" this week, getting back into the swing of things at the gym, working up to some light jogging on the treadmill (ugh) and then come the race I'll just do my best. It's a 5K walk as well, so I won't feel any shame in doing half-and-half.

As of right this second, I've got a motley crew of Stephanie, Angela, Miss T, Jim and Miss J (hee!) joining me. Dare I say? I'm kind of excited.