Remember how I've been training in circus aerial arts? Many of you have asked about it and yup: I'm still at it. My hands are tired claws. It's totally hard. Why?
- I won't say "I'm old." But I will say that a classmate today announced she'll be turning 18 this week. Good grief.
- That practicing on non-circus days is impossible. I mean, where are you going to find silks and a trapeze? And be able to do stuff cheaply, correctly and safely on your own? (Yes, I've already tried rigging a towel over a pull-up bar. Doesn't work. Also? Prowling playground monkey bars? Not cool. Mothers keep giving me weird looks.)
- And hello? Circus is just plain difficult. End of story.
To offset these challenges, a pull-up bar has been constructed in the basement. (I wanted to just buy a pull-up bar, throw it in a doorway and be done. But oh no, my partner is a much more do-it-yourself kind of guy.) What resulted? I don't really even want to show you the basement bar situation, because it's pretty hysterical, albeit entirely practical. (And, also, totally thoughtful endorsement of my odd athletic choices.)
So the bar: if you manage to hang from your hands with your chin above the bar, your head is carefully wedged between the support beams of the ceiling/main story floor above you. There are wires and piping everywhere. Cobwebs. Poor lighting. But it does give my training that nice rustic-rise-from-nothingness edge.
Here's the good news—I'm getting better. Slowly, and grunting and sweating along the way, I'm improving.
Am I as good as the rest of my class? Hardly. Can I do anything graceful enough that it could be captured in a video and shared with you all? No chance. Am I still WAY annoyed that my sister-in-law is so good? Absolutely.
But the basement antics are paying off. I'll take it. (And then some Advil and a bowl of buttery pasta. Ahh.)