That time I joined the circus.

Weird bruises. Stiff hands. And phrases like "straddle up" are totally commonplace. Well, now that I'm training in circus aerial arts. I know: amazing. (Or: entirely ABSURD. You decide.)

Sadly, the studio looks nothing like that, above.

Instead, it's this:

Once inside, there is the glory of trapeze bars (4 of them), sets of silks (those long fabrics), and super bendy—ultra strong—people. In tights. Who make me climb things until I might pass out. And who think I'm actually capable of lifting my own body weight into balletic positions. God help me.

It sounds like such an innocent, artsy idea. Ooh! Trapeze! And hey: I'm flexible and athletic. Or so I thought.

It's painful. I never knew how incredibly under-used those muscles in my armpit were. And hello un-callused hands! 

We all start somewhere. And by somewhere I mean in my super beginner Intro to Aerial 1 class—moaning into the soft foamy mats. Muttering unsavory things about my sister-in-law who talked me into this. (She can actually, you know, DO this stuff for real.)

But I'm nothing if not stubborn.

So I'm still going to classes—when half the class has dropped out by now. I'm buying a pull-up bar. Upping my push-up regimen. And I need to think about investing in tights.