An ex once told me that I had so much imagination that I didn’t even need TV for entertainment.
He was probably right.
Tonight in class, we wrapped up with this jam from Marc Anthony’s new CD. (no video available yet, so this is audio only)
After taking my turn to have my technique critiqued by my instructor, I grabbed my virtual microphone and started singing along. She turned off the music right as I draped myself across the piano in the back of the room. My dance partner said, “um, you interrupted her flow.” My instructor replied, “I interrupted her what?”
“You interrupted my video shoot!”
So then she tells the class, “this is what I like about Heidi. She imagines herself breaking it down. [Instructor shakes her hips from side to side] Boom! Pow! You have to see yourself dancing before you can do it!” Sometimes I get points for goofing off.
Most memorable line last night – “looks like we’re having some trust issues.”
I said, “and here I thought that I was getting better.”
“You are getting better, that is why I’m trying to push you.”
I’ve danced with this guy a few times over the past couple of years, but only once without comment. I take that back, even during that one dance, he told me, “there’s no ‘whoops’ in salsa.” In a funny way, dance sheds light on my strengths and my insecurities. While I laugh off the trust comments (this is the second time that he brought it up), I’m also more and more aware that I just wear that shit on my sleeve.
I have the uncanny ability to fall in love with concepts, activities and places. Lately, I’ve been drawn in to bachata, but it has to split time with salsa and kizomba. I want to learn how to dance bachata Dominican-style, but I don’t know how or where to squeeze it in to my schedule. For now, I just get all goose bump-y when I hear Romeo Santos or Juan Luis Guerra. I am giddy!
and this week the left one has been screaming, “owwwie!” Could this be my first dance injury? Last week, I went out to a club (as in club-club, drunk people circling the club, beer on the dance floor club) to see some friends play. I didn’t want to wear my dance kicks so I wore street shoes. Bad move!! My rubber soles were sticking to the floor all night. I was trying to twist and turn, but my sandals were not having it. I woke up in pain the next morning, but I kept dancing Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday… I was really hurting yesterday, so I started stretching and that seems to help. I’ve been having so much fun that ‘overuse’ and ‘rest’ are words that did not cross my mind. I’m amping up the self-care.
The Church says: the body is a sin.
Science says: the body is a machine.
Advertising says: The body is a business.
The Body says: I am a fiesta.