Today My Dharma is Wiggly

I have to face the fact that I’m getting older.  My body gets stiff, I grunt and groan over simple tasks, weight sticks to me like glue.  I also notice a slowing down in myself.  Getting moving in the morning takes more concentrated effort. I drive slower, I don’t move as quickly because my muscles are resistant.  If you don’t know this drill yet, it’s part of that “we are of the nature to get old” business from the lovely Mr. Buddha.  If you do know what I’m talking about, then you understand what our parents and grandparents meant when they’d say “it’s hell getting old”.

I’ve been trying each day to do some yoga to keep myself limber and I’ve been shocked at how stiff I’ve become and the lack of flexibility my muscles are showing.  I’ve recently been getting massage twice a month to try and help out but my body just seems to fight it and the aches and pains hang around.  Some days I could be a spokesperson for Aleve because if it weren’t for that, I’d have my head in my hands at my desk just trying to get through the discomfort of the day.  Working a desk job isn’t conducive to getting limber.

Of course I’d like to get back into a regular yoga practice with a regular teacher.  Even though yoga on my own doesn’t seem to be getting me very far, maybe a regular class would help, right?  Yoga has always been my friend.  Even when it’s hard or my gut gets in the way, or I just can’t get that balance pose right, I feel like I’m doing something good for myself.  And yoga has other payoffs as well…it’s cool like Starbucks or owning a Mac and being more flexible has some definite bonuses in the bedroom (I mean you sleep better at night of course).  But did I get off my ass and do it?  No.  I’ve just been limping along (sometimes literally) as I get stiffer, in more pain, and fatter.

So three weeks ago, my fat ass is sitting in the dentist chair with a particularly chatty hygienist (seriously, why does any dental professional talk while they are working beyond letting you know what they are doing so you don’t freak out?…it’s not like we are in a position to hold a conversation beyond grunts and eye blinks) and the morning TV show has a Zumba class going on with Kathy Lee or some shit (seriously all TV talking heads kinda look alike to me).  Anyway, the conversation (mostly one sided as you know) turns to Zumba and the short version of this story is, I decide I’m going to research classes in my area.

Now aerobics have never been my gig.  I’m guessing because as a young fat kid I tried it and my left kneecap flew out of place and I have some body memory that gets freaked out over aerobic dancing.  Whatever the case, I find a local instructor and friend her on Facebook, and I get ready to show up for this class.  Mind you, I’m scared out of my gay little mind.  I may be queer as a three dollar bill, but I was a little gay boy raised by straight white parents and baby, I don’t have an ounce of rhythm to save my life…and Zumba, in case you didn’t know, is based on Latin rhythms and dance moves.  As much as I pray for my gay to overcome my whiteness, the white wins out most of the time.  Top that off with the fact that I’m off the charts introverted and this class has really got me on edge.

The first class was intimidating.  Miss Abby the instructor is a fusion of Latin fire and Hip Hop swagger and when she gets going, you better get in the car baby, because you are along for a 60 minute ride and you don’t want to get left behind.  My poor feet were all over the place and god bless my hips because I didn’t even know I actually had any until this class.  My yoga trained brain wanted to keep proper form while I was being told to shimmy my shoulders and make my booty pop while my feet travelled left to right across the room.  Baby, afterwards I was a sweaty pile of Salsa/Cumbia/Merengue/Hip Hop I don’t know what and it was spelled HOT MESS.

Did I get skeert and not come back?  Not at all.  I’ve been back four times now and keep going.  I’m the only dude…ok, big ol’ homo, yes…but still the only dude.  I’m actually learning what I’m supposed to be doing so I slowly get to focus less on my steps and more on the fun…and baby it is fun.  We laugh our asses off.  We hoot.  We holler.  They aren’t joking when they say Zumba less of a class and more of a party.

Now about the old, stiff, slowed down grampa that I started out with in this post…I have to tell you that I’ve been doing this all of two weeks, but in less than that time, I have NO pain in my body.  I can feel my shoulders and my hips and they actually move without resistance.  I’m sore from class but I don’t have the muscle cramps in my legs that I was fighting on a daily basis.  Better yet, I haven’t taken an Aleve this entire time…I haven’t even had a headache (and that’s damn unusual).  In less than two weeks and for the cost of  20 bucks, I’ve done more for my stiff body than several massages costing hundreds of dollars.

The point of this from the standpoint of Zen and Dharma is…sometimes the discipline you need is not the discipline you’re used to, so don’t confuse activity with achievement.  Right now my Dharma is wiggly as shit.  Could yours need some shaking up?  Just in case it does, I’m embedding the video of one of my favorite songs from class by Ester Dean.