Falling From Grace

I have been tripping a lot lately. Over carpet edges, sidewalk cracks, steps. I have two mangled knees and a battered toe because I deigned to attempt to wave "hi" to a neighbor as I simulatenously exited my house. I've only walked down those front steps fifteen times a day for the past eight years, so I can see how my brain would be confused by trying to navigate the two actions at the same time.

I, literally, cannot walk and chew gum. If I am walking, I need to concentrate on that action to avoid falling over something, or for that matter, over nothing.

You'll note the irony in the fact that my doctor wants me to be exercising as much as I can. Something about feeling in control of your body when medical matters are out of control. I pointed out that I occasionally fall on my face. He agreed that was a problem and told me to wear long pants.

Ever the dutiful patient, I headed to the gym last week. I was proud of myself for sticking out forty-five minutes on the treadmill since that is forty-four-minutes-and-fifty-seconds past my stick-a-fork-in-me-I-am-done-boredom threshold, when I caught my foot and fell. Hard. My ankle swelled and there was not even an overly-muscled fitness trainer around to pay attention to my plight and make me feel better by holding some frozen peas to the damn thing.

Band-aids on knees and fluid retention in ankle abated, I returned to the gym today with some trepidation. After giving the treadmill the side-eye, I decided to take my chances with a class that looked inviting. It was in the yoga studio, which is filled with pillows. How hard could something involving pillows be?

The instructor was wearing one of those jangly hip scarf things, which I put on my mental birthday gift list for this year. I do not know how I have managed to go thirty-four years without a jangly hip scarf. The class was called NIA, short for neuromusclar intergration action, and is described as a blend of yoga, marital arts, and dance.

Before the class, the instructor asked if anyone had any health problems to discuss with her. I looked around for any unhealthy people (while averting eyes). Good thing only HEALTHY people take this class. I'm wearing a Nike sports bra. Only healthy people wear Nike sports bras! Dance on, healthy people, dance on!

I managed to keep up the charade until the class was instructed to start spinning. Like in circles. Like a preschooler after multiple episodes of Yo-Gabba-Gabba and four Pop Tarts. Turns out that makes me fall over faster than that evil treadmill (spinning, not Pop Tarts). My Nike sportsbra-encased self gave up the spinning and did the old-lady-with-bad-knees-foot-tap move while everyone else spun around me.

Despite the falling on face thing, I decided I liked the class. At the end, I approached jangly hip scarf instructor and told her the class was fun and I wanted to come back next week. But I disclosed that I have a "little balance issue" and so if she agreed, maybe I could just tap while everyone else did the spinning?

She agreed that would be fine with her. And then she followed with something so warm and caring, I had to smile. She said, "If you decide you are in the mood to spin, and you want to spin, I will come and pick you up if you fall."

Which is exactly what I wanted to hear.