I sat in my wheelchair wearing two hospital gowns – one open to the back and one open to the front like a makeshift robe. Underneath, there were giant, disposable, hospital-provided granny panties and and an ink scribble on my belly, pointing to the location of my tumor.
A nurse gave me a cap to cover my hair. Then, it was time to go. We pushed through the big stainless steel-covered door leading to a hallway full of operating rooms. The door gave me a strange flashback: my heart raced exactly as it did when I rode through a rickety traveling carnival haunted house as a teenager. Continue reading →
What has two thumbs and took her first gym class in years?
OK so it’s me, not Liz Lemon.
After a false start in which I signed up for something called Cardio Video Dance only to realize NOPE), I talked myself into a Vinyasa yoga class. And by “yoga” please know that I don’t mean serious yoga like that taught at Greenhouse. I mean the kind that comes free at my somewhat down-at-heels gym. Continue reading →
I have them in that I belong to a gym. I just skip them.
Why? I think it started as a rebellion against the years – fourteen years – rigorous, time-consuming dance study I did.
By high school, I averaged six classes per week, spread over the course of three days. Mostly ballet including pointe but also jazz, tap and helping with younger kids’ classes. In the month leading up to a performance, the time commitment would typically double.