Run, Hammer Time!

Pump a little bit and let ’em know it’s going on
Like that, like that
Cold on a mission so fall them back
Let ’em know, that you’re too much
And this is a beat, uh, you can’t touch

Yo, I told you (You can’t touch this)

He’s straight out of Oaktown (I’m pretending to know what this means) and is kindly providing me with my motivational, power running song. I’ve never thought about having one before, but it’s perfect. Just when I think I can’t run anymore and start thinking about a detour towards an ice cream sandwich, the song gets my energy up to start/keep running. It also makes we want to dance, but I restrain myself. Running and dancing don’t mix. Unless you are doing the Running Man, at which I’m terrible. I feel great when I’m doing it, but apparently, judging from the furrowed brow of my friend Mae, I probably look like I’m doing one of those old, “I must, I must, I must increase my bust” exercises instead. While doing dangerous and super impatient knee lifts.

I tend to be late on the bandwagon when it comes to suddenly liking music that’s been around for decades. When I first heard “No Diggety” last year, I thought it was a new song. Same with “Shoop”. No, I don’t only listen to old rap songs. I actually like a lot of folk rock like The Oh Hellos, Gregory Alan Isakov. And 70’s and 80’s music. Southern Rock. Pop. Why am I talking about this?? MC Hammer…music…motivation…

I completed my first 12K three weeks ago. It was amazingly awesome. Especially when you share the experience with friends. We ran our own races, cheered each other on, and proudly and loudly debriefed over a huge Sunday brunch. I almost felt like I was part of King Arthur’s court with my grog (coffee) and leg of wild boar (eggs benedict).

So, three weeks have passed and in between then and now I’ve been dealing with some family stuff, creating more mosaics, made a trip to L.A. and interviewed for a job. And, oh yes – I’m thinking about running a half marathon.

I had previously thought the idea was quote, cuckoo, unquote. Perhaps it is. But I never claimed to be sane. So I’m entertaining the idea. A friend lent me her copy of Jeff Galloway’s “Galloway’s Book on Running” and I’m trying out his method of training. I’ll be curious to see how my running changes over the course of the next 4 – 6 weeks.

Time to find more music to motivate me. I just heard about a guy named Vanilla Ice. Think I’ll check him out – or maybe it’s just that I still want that ice cream sandwich…


Shall We Dance?

I’m not sure what I was thinking.  That’s just it.  I wasn’t thinking.

After all, I’m still trying to understand the messages that my body sends me (see last entry).  Sometimes two halves don’t make up a whole, and sometimes the result isn’t as funny as the movie promises:


The local dance studio had advertised “Disco Night!” which included a lesson in the Hustle and then a dance party to follow.  I remembered how much fun it was to do the Hustle, and consequently, I thought it would be really fun to just let loose and dance afterwards.

What I didn’t expect was a formal lesson by award-winning ballroom dancers and as we learned each step, we would be switching partners.  I went by myself in an effort to “get myself out there” and found out, hey – this is what speed dating must be like!  Except, it turns out, this would be more humiliating.  On a positive note, I was having fun learning the first few set of steps before things got complicated with full and half turns.  On a not so positive note, if my guy also didn’t know how to dance and one of us missed a step, I got thrown off the ship and I took my partner with me.  If I tried to laugh it off and the guy didn’t laugh at all, I felt terrible.  Being responsible for my own demise was no big deal.  But if I ruined it for someone else…

When the lesson was finished, the lights went out and the disco ball came down. I thought, Let’s Dance!!!  Where’s Ren McCormack??!!  But people partnered up to elegantly chachacha and hustle and do whatever choreographed step they were doing.  Oh.

I watched the other single women being asked to dance and after fidgeting on the sidelines a bit, I left.  I felt…awkward.  I blame myself – I could have laughed it all off and not cared what anyone thought.  The point was to have fun, and my feelings of embarrassment kept me from truly having fun.

I guess the point of trying something new is that at least you learn what you like and don’t like.  After all, I don’t get the least bit embarrassed when I dance at weddings or other events where you can just let go and dance the way you want to.  In fact, I’m positive that I embarrass other people.  Maybe structured dance just isn’t my thing.

I was telling my mom about the experience and she said (translation provided in English), “When you were young, maybe 6 or 7 years old, you would put a record on and dance, dance, dance…dance, dance, dance…shake your booty, shake your booty…”  (Sorry, I made up that last part.  Couldn’t resist.)  She said that I would dance and dance and laugh and laugh…

That’s how a kid dances, right?  With complete freedom and joy?

That’s what all of me loves about dancing.  There is no argument within because I can let it all go and feel like a kid again.

No, I probably won’t be going back to that dance studio.  Not unless they combine speed dating with improvisational dance.  Now where to find…