I might have said this before but after having Yuki, most of the weight from pregnancy came off within the first three months. BUT the last 5 pounds just wouldn’t come off for the longest time. It doesn't seem like much, but 5 pounds is just enough to make you look like a clueless teen-ager squeezing into pants that don't fit. I had a whole section of closet dedicated to “If these don’t fit this winter, just move on and get new pants.” As I was about to make room, I tried on a pair and lo and behold they fit like they used to (insert choir of angels here).
Finally, after almost two years, I am able to wear these again. But then they fit slightly differently. Can’t really say exactly how, but I feel ever so slightly … lumpier. It’s clear. I have to exercise.
I have a pretty active job, but I really don’t put much effort into working out outside of walking the dog—and even that, I now do less due to kid chasing. Well, I suppose that is a form of exercise. But anyway, at my age (hate to say it, but true), I should really do something so my pants can fit happier and I can be healthier, and so on. But what? I REFUSE to join a gym because I am LAZY. I know myself. I will never go. I have done yoga on my own for a while and that seemed to work, but it’s now tricky with Yuki trying to climb me. It was pretty clear what needed to be done.
Dance class.
It’s the only form of exercise I actually enjoy because I have been doing it for…well, since I was 6. Okay, I haven’t really done it much in the last 10 years (it doesn’t count when you sit on the chair and bark at people what to do), but still. I know how and it’s the only way this will get done. So I went back to a drop in ballet class at Pacific Northwest Ballet with my friend Nicole.
Taking a ballet class is like going to mass. Odd analogy, I know, but it’s true. No matter where you go, the basic structure of is the same. And if you have done it for most of your life, no matter how long it has been, it feels like home in an odd way when you enter a studio and put your towel and water down by the bar and start stretching. I’m now way creakier and non-bendable, but my head is there.
Enter teacher. He looks 15. He is sporting a polo shirt (with collar up) and very tight jeans, a la Michael Baryshnikov in White Knights and is wearing jazz shoes. Like he is just going to teach this little class before his first cup of coffee and cigarette. Yikes.
The first few exercises broke my brain. My head is also out of shape for following simple combination. I luckily managed to sandwich myself between two people who knew what they were doing (always a good trick) so I muddle through. By half way through the bar, my head is catching up but my body is now not following. My feet are cramping and my thighs don't seem to have any muscles. I used to be able to get my leg up above my shoulder but I can’t get it high enough to come in to my peripheral vision. My brain is sending signals to my body to correct each placement because I know my faults and yet I can’t implement the correction. I am powerless to stop myself from white-knuckling the bar, and pressing my lips together like I’m giving birth (I can say this because I have now done it!).
It’s pretty pitiful when you know how it’s supposed to go and your body just won’t do it. But then you gotta take a step back and look around the room. I am definitely not the youngest in the room, but also not the oldest. These drop-in classes tend to attract “older” people (and we’re talking 45 to 60) so that puts me somewhere near the middle to youngest group. You totally don’t want to be the worst one in class either and I think that I was in the middle to slightly above the middle in level. That is a good place to be because you have enough people that you can cheat off of, but you can also follow enough to not fall behind or stand out.
You also want to watch how you dress. If you are totally geared up from head to toe—in this case, pink tights, black leotard, ballet skirt, and leg warmers – you look like a nerd. Especially if you suck. It’s much cooler to wear a pair of sweats over your leotard with beat up long sleeve T-shirt and ski socks over your ballet slippers and nail every combination. I chose to be somewhere in between. I’ve been a dancer long enough to dress according to rank and level. I also had to wear my jazz shoes today because my ballet slippers have big holes (not the cool size but big enough to poke my big toe through), which is a risk. If you wear jazz shoes, you better be pretty good or people will think you are only jazz trained which is gasp deserving. But I felt better because the teacher boy was wearing them as well as a couple of other people in class.
When we moved to center (that’s when you put away the bars and do some dancy-dance in the middle of the floor), I wanted to sit. But that is frowned upon so I squatted—it looks like I’m stretching that way. I was sweaty, which I suppose is good but, man, I was hurting. The “adagio,” which is the very slow tempo combination with many requirements to lift your leg high and hold was first and my leg only came off 3 inches off the floor before it shook from strain. More sweat.
Then came the turns, which I used to be pretty good at, but I hopped out of doubles (I used to be able to nail triples – at least on my right). And did I mention that I was a dork with glasses on? It’s hard to do the second set of turns when you glasses have slid down to the tip of your nose. I thought about doing without them but then I wouldn’t see the combination being taught. It’s hard to be me. Then we moved across the floor, which saved me because the teacher boy happened to pick a combo that is pretty standard. But I am now sweating buckets.
Then he said in his vague European accent, “let us jump now,” at which point I felt hate. Hate, because I was out of fuel. Hate, because the teacher boy hadn’t broken a sweat. Hate, because a 20- year old jerk in front of me is doing triples on everything and still landing before everyone. “You jump,” I thought, but I jumped. It killed. Come to think of it, that section of ballet class always killed even when I was dancing 20 hours a week. Then there was one more combination of leaps. By this time I was in the “f*** it” mode and put myself in the first group and somehow moved through it without any mistakes. But I was seeing stars. Then it was over.
I limped out and Philip and Yuki greeted me. I drank 32 ounces of water in one sitting, then we went home. I have noticed in the last 5 years that when you get older and exercise, you don’t feel the pain right away. It hits you just as you think, “Hey, I must not be that out of shape after all.” So I should be crawling by Tuesday. Good times. All this for pants fitting. We shall see how long I last.
I close this post with Yuki’s latest fashion show, with commentary by Philip.
Auditioning for the role of "Tuffy" in the new Our Gang?
And now, a Simpsons reference:
Hey kids! It's Sideshow Yuki!
Thank you.
A "Saturday Morning Outfit" of her own devising.
They always include shoes, jacket, and a hat.
Patterns be damned.
I know we are at least partly responsible because Yuki doesn't buy her own clothes but I may have to reconsider my "I'm going to let my kid dress herself" stance.
Finally, after almost two years, I am able to wear these again. But then they fit slightly differently. Can’t really say exactly how, but I feel ever so slightly … lumpier. It’s clear. I have to exercise.
I have a pretty active job, but I really don’t put much effort into working out outside of walking the dog—and even that, I now do less due to kid chasing. Well, I suppose that is a form of exercise. But anyway, at my age (hate to say it, but true), I should really do something so my pants can fit happier and I can be healthier, and so on. But what? I REFUSE to join a gym because I am LAZY. I know myself. I will never go. I have done yoga on my own for a while and that seemed to work, but it’s now tricky with Yuki trying to climb me. It was pretty clear what needed to be done.
Dance class.
It’s the only form of exercise I actually enjoy because I have been doing it for…well, since I was 6. Okay, I haven’t really done it much in the last 10 years (it doesn’t count when you sit on the chair and bark at people what to do), but still. I know how and it’s the only way this will get done. So I went back to a drop in ballet class at Pacific Northwest Ballet with my friend Nicole.
Taking a ballet class is like going to mass. Odd analogy, I know, but it’s true. No matter where you go, the basic structure of is the same. And if you have done it for most of your life, no matter how long it has been, it feels like home in an odd way when you enter a studio and put your towel and water down by the bar and start stretching. I’m now way creakier and non-bendable, but my head is there.
Enter teacher. He looks 15. He is sporting a polo shirt (with collar up) and very tight jeans, a la Michael Baryshnikov in White Knights and is wearing jazz shoes. Like he is just going to teach this little class before his first cup of coffee and cigarette. Yikes.
The first few exercises broke my brain. My head is also out of shape for following simple combination. I luckily managed to sandwich myself between two people who knew what they were doing (always a good trick) so I muddle through. By half way through the bar, my head is catching up but my body is now not following. My feet are cramping and my thighs don't seem to have any muscles. I used to be able to get my leg up above my shoulder but I can’t get it high enough to come in to my peripheral vision. My brain is sending signals to my body to correct each placement because I know my faults and yet I can’t implement the correction. I am powerless to stop myself from white-knuckling the bar, and pressing my lips together like I’m giving birth (I can say this because I have now done it!).
It’s pretty pitiful when you know how it’s supposed to go and your body just won’t do it. But then you gotta take a step back and look around the room. I am definitely not the youngest in the room, but also not the oldest. These drop-in classes tend to attract “older” people (and we’re talking 45 to 60) so that puts me somewhere near the middle to youngest group. You totally don’t want to be the worst one in class either and I think that I was in the middle to slightly above the middle in level. That is a good place to be because you have enough people that you can cheat off of, but you can also follow enough to not fall behind or stand out.
You also want to watch how you dress. If you are totally geared up from head to toe—in this case, pink tights, black leotard, ballet skirt, and leg warmers – you look like a nerd. Especially if you suck. It’s much cooler to wear a pair of sweats over your leotard with beat up long sleeve T-shirt and ski socks over your ballet slippers and nail every combination. I chose to be somewhere in between. I’ve been a dancer long enough to dress according to rank and level. I also had to wear my jazz shoes today because my ballet slippers have big holes (not the cool size but big enough to poke my big toe through), which is a risk. If you wear jazz shoes, you better be pretty good or people will think you are only jazz trained which is gasp deserving. But I felt better because the teacher boy was wearing them as well as a couple of other people in class.
When we moved to center (that’s when you put away the bars and do some dancy-dance in the middle of the floor), I wanted to sit. But that is frowned upon so I squatted—it looks like I’m stretching that way. I was sweaty, which I suppose is good but, man, I was hurting. The “adagio,” which is the very slow tempo combination with many requirements to lift your leg high and hold was first and my leg only came off 3 inches off the floor before it shook from strain. More sweat.
Then came the turns, which I used to be pretty good at, but I hopped out of doubles (I used to be able to nail triples – at least on my right). And did I mention that I was a dork with glasses on? It’s hard to do the second set of turns when you glasses have slid down to the tip of your nose. I thought about doing without them but then I wouldn’t see the combination being taught. It’s hard to be me. Then we moved across the floor, which saved me because the teacher boy happened to pick a combo that is pretty standard. But I am now sweating buckets.
Then he said in his vague European accent, “let us jump now,” at which point I felt hate. Hate, because I was out of fuel. Hate, because the teacher boy hadn’t broken a sweat. Hate, because a 20- year old jerk in front of me is doing triples on everything and still landing before everyone. “You jump,” I thought, but I jumped. It killed. Come to think of it, that section of ballet class always killed even when I was dancing 20 hours a week. Then there was one more combination of leaps. By this time I was in the “f*** it” mode and put myself in the first group and somehow moved through it without any mistakes. But I was seeing stars. Then it was over.
I limped out and Philip and Yuki greeted me. I drank 32 ounces of water in one sitting, then we went home. I have noticed in the last 5 years that when you get older and exercise, you don’t feel the pain right away. It hits you just as you think, “Hey, I must not be that out of shape after all.” So I should be crawling by Tuesday. Good times. All this for pants fitting. We shall see how long I last.
I close this post with Yuki’s latest fashion show, with commentary by Philip.
Auditioning for the role of "Tuffy" in the new Our Gang?
Hey kids! It's Sideshow Yuki!
Thank you.
A "Saturday Morning Outfit" of her own devising.They always include shoes, jacket, and a hat.
Patterns be damned.
I know we are at least partly responsible because Yuki doesn't buy her own clothes but I may have to reconsider my "I'm going to let my kid dress herself" stance.
Comments
Mimi - I joined the gym. One of my trainers is pregnant. That does not stop her from doing everything better and faster and I hurt for DAYS after. Sometimes I go to the gym still sore and get more sore. Keep it up!! Good luck.
Judy
I'm so tired and worn out from your dance class I think I'll order a pizza for dinner and eat it in front of the tv with a beer! ha ha
It is amazing that the pain comes later. Also amazing with age is the sweat! I never used to sweat so much! Ewwww.
Also also - no matter what I wear to work out the mirrors at the gym always make it look much worse than when I left the house.
I love Yuki's style but I will say that I eventually put away all of my boys' printed shorts so they could not be paired with printed tops. somehow more devastating on a boy than a girl!
xoxo
Keep it up Mimi you are an inspiration!
gibs