So, with my impending vacation and summer (a.k.a. the season of frightening nudity) looming, I have been working out and eating like Nicole Richie on a "fat" day.
I like to work out at home. I can't stand to be around other people when I'm jumping around, grunting and sweaty. Lately, with all the snow and my lack of interest in "winter sports" (whatever the hell those are, all I know is it doesn't sound good) I've been doing videos in my living room. I love kickboxing, but the routines I have are too short (30 minutes, give or take a nose blow or potty break) so I've been supplementing with aerobics.
Yes- good, old fashioned, 80's style aerobics.
Headband, Reebok hi-tops, shiny spandex, full-on makeup & legwarmers optional. Yeah, optional for LOSERS. Winners don't do anything halfway, man.
So...I'm jumping, jogging, jacking and "whoo!", "yeah", "uh-huh"-ing my way through this high-impact nightmare when...
My ankle made a crunching sound as I was dropping to the floor in a most unladylike fashion. I couldn't breathe for a minute, but all I could think was, "I hope I still can do some crunches". Idiot.
I remember when I wasn't as clumsy as a sitcom with Tony Danza. I was a dancer. 12 years. I have the toe shoes and bad knees to prove it. My first recital was to the "Copacabana" at the Holiday Center in Duluth for some event I can't even remember. I think I was 12. I wore a shiny red leotard and an equally shiny yellow skirt trimmed with sequins. My dance teacher was obsessed with the "copacabana"- even then I knew it was unhealthy, but I liked her & forged on with the show.
Nancylaine Anderson, much like Lola and her feather, always wore a flower in her hair. She was the most exotic woman I had ever met- tall, always in head to toe black, long dark hair and as graceful at 50-something as anyone could ever hope to be. She was beautiful, inspiring and funny- and she thought I was talented. I was o.k.
She had several different "studios" around town through the years, but her last one was the one she had the longest. And even with falling-apart floors, really loud radiators and probable asbestos, it was by far the nicest. She occupied the space over what is now the Electric Fetus- I think there are offices or something like that there now. When she first opened, the Strand Theater (the last of the great porno theaters in town) was still open. I still remember the night some douchebag hit on my polyester pant-wearing, knitting bag-toting Mom. She thought that was pretty freaking funny. Almost as funny when a hooker tried to pick up my Dad in Jamaica- with my Mom standing right next to him.
I wonder where NancyLaine is now? Is she still alive?
I guess I should find out.
I lost touch with her when I went to college, and I don't think she ever really forgave me for taking "Modern" dance at UMD. She considered it undisciplined. It was. Dirty bare feet really aren't as graceful or pretty as pink satin toe shoes.
So...long story short, I twisted the shit out of my ankle & fell down. My ankle looks like someone smacked it with a baseball bat.
I decided if I can't work out, I'll just get a swimsuit like this: