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Push Ups Again
Dec. 4th, 2010 12:27 amWoke up very late. Got dressed and went into Cambridge for a poetry reading, but it turned out we had the day wrong and it's not until tomorrow. So we came home. But first we stopped at a specialty grocer for bramley apple pies and Perugina. And for Ciro, a copy of the latest issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and for me a two-foot-long French marshmallow stick, lavender flavored.
I've been enjoying buying things lately, which is unusual for me. I think it's because I have so little insulation from my awareness of how hard the recession's been and how many people are still without work; it feels important to support artists and businesses since I can. It's a strange but rewarding kind of Christmas spirit. It feels like the end of Scrooge* every day.
I've been watching the PBS Circus documentary, which means I keep thinking about whether or not it is a good idea to take tumbling classes. Not because I could ever be a gymnast or aerialist (in terms of circus talents, I am firmly a clown), but because I have never been able to do so much as a cartwheel and have always been disappointed in myself as a result.
As we all know from my doomed pushup quest, I am not someone who has ever had upper body strength. I can't do handstands; I can't breakdance; I can't do certain yoga poses. And it's hard to train that stuff up without harnesses and a spotter; if you can't support your own weight in a position, you can't exactly do it half strength while you work up to it - not without changing the angle and using different muscles.
I could weight lift, I suppose, but I get intellectually disinterested in exercise for exercise's sake, or building muscles without a clear idea of what those muscles will allow me to do. If what I want is the confidence I would gain by knowing I could do a back flip, it seems like I should maybe train with someone who could teach me to do a back flip.
On the other hand, I think of a class full of other people who probably took gymnastics when they were kids, or who rock climb, being trained by somebody else for whom this comes naturally enough that they dedicated their life to it. I think of trying to do the hardest thing in my life, working hard at it, and being so bad for so long that it frustrates all the people who are doing this for fun.
I like being good at things, and I'm talented at a lot of them. This is not one of those things. Failing over and over again at something I may not ever be able to do while the people around me boggle at the fact that I can't do something "so simple" does not sound fun to me. I managed to get to the point where I could touch my toes after years of working on it by myself; the years before that, when I was in gym classes and martial arts dojos, I never made progress and I always felt awful, because my teachers first got angry and then gave up.
So there's another part of me that says "just find a swim club or something." I don't have to be the best at everything I do, but I don't want to go back to being the kid you regret having as your partner.
* I do mean specifically Scrooge rather than A Christmas Carol generally. Albert Finney plays those scenes with such fragility, a bewilderedness, confusion and doubt mixed with delight and relief.
I've been enjoying buying things lately, which is unusual for me. I think it's because I have so little insulation from my awareness of how hard the recession's been and how many people are still without work; it feels important to support artists and businesses since I can. It's a strange but rewarding kind of Christmas spirit. It feels like the end of Scrooge* every day.
I've been watching the PBS Circus documentary, which means I keep thinking about whether or not it is a good idea to take tumbling classes. Not because I could ever be a gymnast or aerialist (in terms of circus talents, I am firmly a clown), but because I have never been able to do so much as a cartwheel and have always been disappointed in myself as a result.
As we all know from my doomed pushup quest, I am not someone who has ever had upper body strength. I can't do handstands; I can't breakdance; I can't do certain yoga poses. And it's hard to train that stuff up without harnesses and a spotter; if you can't support your own weight in a position, you can't exactly do it half strength while you work up to it - not without changing the angle and using different muscles.
I could weight lift, I suppose, but I get intellectually disinterested in exercise for exercise's sake, or building muscles without a clear idea of what those muscles will allow me to do. If what I want is the confidence I would gain by knowing I could do a back flip, it seems like I should maybe train with someone who could teach me to do a back flip.
On the other hand, I think of a class full of other people who probably took gymnastics when they were kids, or who rock climb, being trained by somebody else for whom this comes naturally enough that they dedicated their life to it. I think of trying to do the hardest thing in my life, working hard at it, and being so bad for so long that it frustrates all the people who are doing this for fun.
I like being good at things, and I'm talented at a lot of them. This is not one of those things. Failing over and over again at something I may not ever be able to do while the people around me boggle at the fact that I can't do something "so simple" does not sound fun to me. I managed to get to the point where I could touch my toes after years of working on it by myself; the years before that, when I was in gym classes and martial arts dojos, I never made progress and I always felt awful, because my teachers first got angry and then gave up.
So there's another part of me that says "just find a swim club or something." I don't have to be the best at everything I do, but I don't want to go back to being the kid you regret having as your partner.
* I do mean specifically Scrooge rather than A Christmas Carol generally. Albert Finney plays those scenes with such fragility, a bewilderedness, confusion and doubt mixed with delight and relief.
