Today I danced for good reason, but it was not for reason that I enjoyed every minute of it.
My body ached from previous ill-prepared workout. I dragged my self the entire morning, and wavered on my decision to hit the gym. Weekends are good days for workout - I don't have to rush, there are very few people (and therefore, not much of the hateful smell of sweat all over the place), and my choices for activities are more for my general well-being than the drive to look good. Still, it became a choice between getting a massage or shaking and stretching my self to the bone.
Knowing I will be alone today, it was tough dressing my self up. Then she came. And as quickly as she moved her feet she said her goodbye.
Wanda has been a pleasure to dance with. She works you out, yes. But from the start I immediately noticed she was not one gym instructor who only makes a living out of sheer talent. She earned those moves. And right I was. She was a trained and professional dancer in her younger years.
Off the floor, we exchanged stories of how it was and showed our past injuries like trophies of the life we lived. We shared moves, techniques on which muscles to activate, where to pull your balance from, and how to push the floor for maximum flight and soft impact.
She did jazz, I did ballet. We both did contemporary dances, and we both don't dig hiphop.
As the music intensified, I decided to dance. And just about the moment I started to tick my shoulders flip my neck and pull my core, she smiled. A few minutes later, she threw away the microphone saying she just wanted to get wild. For the last sets, I could barely hear anything else than the music and my gasps for air.
Thank you, Wanda. It takes but a few moments to connect to make one happy thought.
Today I danced. Today I smiled.
My body ached from previous ill-prepared workout. I dragged my self the entire morning, and wavered on my decision to hit the gym. Weekends are good days for workout - I don't have to rush, there are very few people (and therefore, not much of the hateful smell of sweat all over the place), and my choices for activities are more for my general well-being than the drive to look good. Still, it became a choice between getting a massage or shaking and stretching my self to the bone.
Knowing I will be alone today, it was tough dressing my self up. Then she came. And as quickly as she moved her feet she said her goodbye.
Wanda has been a pleasure to dance with. She works you out, yes. But from the start I immediately noticed she was not one gym instructor who only makes a living out of sheer talent. She earned those moves. And right I was. She was a trained and professional dancer in her younger years.
Off the floor, we exchanged stories of how it was and showed our past injuries like trophies of the life we lived. We shared moves, techniques on which muscles to activate, where to pull your balance from, and how to push the floor for maximum flight and soft impact.
She did jazz, I did ballet. We both did contemporary dances, and we both don't dig hiphop.
As the music intensified, I decided to dance. And just about the moment I started to tick my shoulders flip my neck and pull my core, she smiled. A few minutes later, she threw away the microphone saying she just wanted to get wild. For the last sets, I could barely hear anything else than the music and my gasps for air.
Thank you, Wanda. It takes but a few moments to connect to make one happy thought.
Today I danced. Today I smiled.
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