Nightswimming
. . . deserves a quiet night. I, on the other hand, have decided to try dayswimming, at a public pool, no less. Today I hobbled up and down my lane for over forty-five minutes, doing a modified (read: incompetent) breast stroke and a modified (read: frantic) freestyle under the horrified gaze of a swimming coach, the lifeguard and the water aerobics instructor, stopping every few seconds to inhale some water and flail.
Now, most exercise I’ve tried leaves me feeling better afterwards. I might not be able to walk or move or breathe the next morning, but right after a good workout I usually feel doubly alive, tired but manly. After my three quarters of an hour in the pool, however, I felt nauseated, weak and dizzy. Maybe I worked out too hard for a first time; it has been known to happen before (the main reason I have never gotten back into lifting weights); maybe I did not sufficiently hydrate myself before getting in the pool (I expressed the irony to myself by composing the couplet, “Water, water, everywhere/Nor any drop that’s not chlorinated and/or tainted with urine.” Maybe it’ll catch on.). Or maybe my problem was that I had already tired myself out earlier by doing a belly-dance fitness routine on DVD.
Yes, you read correctly; as a mature adult male, in the privacy of my bedroom, I pulled my blinds, took off my shirt, put on my supportive undergarments, my high-waisted Latin dance pants and high-heeled Latin dance shoes, and shimmied and undulated for a half-hour under the direction of the world-renowned belly-dance instructor Amira Mor. In that half-hour, I learned the following fundamental belly dancing moves:
- Lower Body Shimmies
- Upper Body Shimmies
- Chest Thrusts and Drops
- Hip Lifts and Drops
- Snake, Cobra and Butterfly Arms
- Basic Walk Forward and Back
Of course, good dance student that I am, I brought a full-length mirror into my bedroom with me so that I could see exactly how far I was from actually getting any of the movements. I’m proud to say that I was fantastic! All I lack to become a professional belly-dance instructor like Amira is a flowy, abbreviated “I Dream of Jeannie”-type get-up, a flat stomach, some boobs, long raven hair, and an amusing way of never using any definite articles and never pluralizing nouns. Also, possibly some kind of certificate. If you want to sign up for private lessons, you can find me at the public pool, practicing my impression of a drowning elephant.
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