Friday Five/ My Newest Favourite Thing: Belly Dancing

This is a cross-over post (of both Friday Five and My Newest Favourite Thing), as for the past six weeks I have been trying something new: namely bellydancing. Let me begin by saying I will never be a bellydancer. I haven't got the grace or the coordination, or the want/ need to shake my bits in front of an audience of strangers (in other words; I've got the belly but not the dancing bit down pat) but I have very much enjoyed my brief introduction to the art.

Our instructor, Brooke Thomas, is amazing. She is talented and professional (and has a proper dance troupe - Quake Bellydance) with warmth and humour to accompany her style. While she teaches serious and capable dancers, she is equally adept at dealing with incompetent, uncoordinated people with two left feet (i.e. me). She gives us moves to develop into a routine and introduces us to fun techniques, with plenty of warm up and cool down stretching, and some technical and historical background for those interested in the art. 

5 Favourite Things about Bellydancing

1. Camaraderie/ body acceptance - bellydancers come in all shapes and sizes and they are meant to jiggle. The body is an amazing thing and this type of dance celebrates that. Shimmies and hip movements isolate and highlight groups of muscles, and arm placement draws further attention to parts of the body and indicates their vibrancy and versatility. You don't have to be a supermodel to bellydance; you just have to learn to embrace your curves and enjoy the way your body feels when it moves.
2. Work-out/ flexibility/ stretching - Isolating muscle groups provides a great workout - it can be as high impact as you want to make it, and you really get to move, stretch and tone. The names of the moves are descriptive and evocative: there are hip drops, lifts, flicks, bumps, and rotations, snake arms, ribcage slides and circles, Maya, butterfly catch, envelope, Roman flame. The feeling afterwards is of a contented glow (much like you might experience with yoga or Pilates), and the week after we concentrated on snake arms, I really knew about it!
3. Music/ Rhythm - I love music and dancing for fun, even if I'll never be any good at it. Brooke makes the choreography fit beautifully to the beats and the ambiance of the music. We listened to some great Turkish songs and compositions, which were uplifting and fulfilling. I will admit to not being a fan of Shakira, although I now have Whenever, Wherever as an uninvited ear worm lodged in my brain.
4. Costumes - Brooke makes all her own costumes and she looks spectacular (did I mention she is ridiculously talented?). We danced in shorts or leggings and exercise tops. We did, however, get to play with the coin belts and veils. Coin belts are great fun: they jingle as we jiggle and we are literally present with bells on, but they are also tell-tale alarms for when the lower body is meant to be still as the upper body is meant to be directing the action. Veils are just great fun to drape, twirl and float about with. 
5. Learning new things - it's good for mental as well as physical health. I have a whole new appreciation of the artform. And, most importantly, I had a lot of fun!

Graceful shape framed by a veil

Why do I sing?

Eamonn McNicholas, a fellow performer recently asked the question, 'Why do I sing?' He is doing a project on the answers and would like as many as possible, so please go to his blog and leave your comments.

I thought about this question and realised that I always have - I used to sing at school and in the church choir. I always just liked the release it seemed to give me, and I was told I had a decent voice. I sang for myself, all the time, around the house and while out walking or playing in the back garden. We had a 'no singing at the table' rule in our house, which I can only assume was because I used to do it to an annoying extent.

I copied and mimicked, and I invented my own tuneless little ditties. As I grew up a bit, I discovered harmonies, and I loved to play around with those. And then I discovered that I could entertain others by singing (people will listen to a song in a way that they won't listen to a poem or a Shakespeare soliloquy). Children love it, whether you are soothing recalcitrant babies or making up little routines with nieces and nephews, they appreciate the music. And this was a gift. My siblings didn't sing. I guess it was my point of difference. I assumed the role of family entertainer.

When I started doing musical theatre and singing in more discerning circles I soon realised that although I may be considered good, I would never be accounted great. This didn't particularly bother me (I had discovered that I prefered 'straight' acting and plays anyway) as I sang purely for fun and not for acclaim. It was social - once again, people are more likely to join in a song with than they are a recitation of one of Arthur Miller's more poignant speeches.

And it releases emotion and endorphines. I usually use sport for this - running, cycling, swimming, yoga, or even a brisk walk can make me feel better both mentally and physically. Until I was injured and on crutches, unable to exercise. I missed the buzz and the outlet. I went for a sing with some friends. I expelled air and opened up my lungs, controlling my breathing and tuning in to those around me. I felt those endorphines again - it was a natural high and I just really enjoyed it.

So, in short, I suppose that's my answer - I sing because I enjoy it. What about you?

Friday Five:Mini Steps to Recovery

Six weeks ago I ruptured my medial head gastrocnemius playing football. Apparently it is a textbook injury (I prefer the word 'textbook' to 'common') and the rheabilitation period is twelve weeks, made in incremental steps.

I spent two weeks in a cast with my leg totally immobilised, and hobbling around on crutches, and no, sadly, I didn't look anywhere near as good as Emily Blunt. I am going to the physio two or three times a week and doing stretching and strengthening exercises for about two hours a day. It's getting better slowly and steadily, but it will be another six weeks before I am allowed to run again (and I'm not sure if and/or when football will be permitted again).

Yesterday I returned the crutches to the hospital with a great sense of satifaction, and it led me to think about injuries and recovery and the things we (or certainly, I) take for granted.

5 Mini Steps to Recovery:

1. Being able to carry stuff, particularly drinks, particularly hot drinks - have you any idea how long it takes to move a cup of coffee from room to room by putting it on a surface, picking up the crutches, hopping forward a step, putting down the crutches, moving the cup forward a few inches, picking up the crutches, hopping forward a step, etc? About twenty minutes. Of course, I could just lean in the kitchen and drink it standing up, but that somewhat defeats the purpose.
2. Being able to stand up - hopping around art galleries or racing through airport terminals is simply not possible so although most of the time crutches are manageable, there were occasions when I needed to be in a wheelchair. Although some of my friends enjoyed pushing me around for a change (you know who you are), it is not pleasant to be at groin level with the general public - especially those who insist on exposing midriffs and bumcracks. Please put it away - I don't want to look and when I am at this height, I really haven't got a choice!
3. Having a bath - sitting on a garden chair in the shower with a plastic bag wrapped around your leg just isn't the same.
4. Driving a car - it's my left leg, so if I drove an automatic it wouldn't be a problem, but I don't and so it is. The pressure you need to apply to depress the clutch and change gears has been beyond me for the last month and a half. Appreciative as I am of Him Outdoors dropping me off and picking me up from places, the nature of his job means he is on-call and his timekeeping is fluid if a call comes through that he must attend. Being given the all clear to drive last week has returned much of my freedom and independence - hurrah!
5. Exercise - I never thought I'd miss it. Times have been tough over the last couple of months and I realise that I like to get out and go for a jog or a bike ride in the fresh air to clear my head and stop things getting me down mentally. As this has been impossible I have been sitting in the sweltering heat with my leg elevated and my mind churning over depressing thoughts. Yesterday I went for my first bike ride in the outdoors (only twenty minutes around the block, but so much better than the stationary bike in the garage) and it felt good.

This is not part of the recovery five, but I have noticed the amazing kindness and generosity of many of my friends, from holding doors open for me, to patiently waiting while I hobble slowly, sitting doing nothing but drinking cups of tea or glasses of wine, and even coming round to hang out my washing when I was incapable. Thank you all - you're great and I appreciate all your friendship and support.

Just Plain Stupid

Jacob Palmer (Ryan Gosling) instructs Cal Weaver (Steve Carell) in the art of looking fine

I watched Crazy, Stupid Love. on the way home from Sydney. It was perfect plane viewing – pretty obvious and not at all demanding with some good solid acting and snappy dialogue. The official blurb is, “A middle-aged husband's life changes dramatically when his wife asks him for a divorce. He seeks to rediscover his manhood with the help of a new-found friend Jacob, learning to pick up girls at bars.” Actually, it is more complex and subtle than that, but for the purposes of this post, let’s go with that.

Jacob, played by Ryan Gosling, is the highlight of the film. His arrogance and assurance (all of which turn out to be built on image and lacking in substance) are delivered with panache and one-liners Oscar Wilde might have written were he alive today. As he gives Cal (the husband) dating advice, he says cynically, “The war between the sexes is over and we won. We won the minute they started doing pole dancing as exercise.”

I spluttered with indignation over this line, because the first part is just so wrong and the second part so sadly true. A friend of mine, whom I considered liberated, educated and of above-average intelligence, recently told me that she had begun pole dancing lessons for fitness. My jaw dropped. I was lost for words – not something that happens to me too often. “Why?” It was all I could ask.

Her answer was highly unsatisfactory. For the record it was something along the lines of having a bit of fun and trying something new. Fair enough. Is it necessary to do it in a skimpy bikini? Apparently yes – it helps you grip the pole better – the tassels on your nipples are optional. A pathetic excuse: I have seen people hold onto lamp-posts at a perpendicular angle while fully clothed and, yes, admittedly, half-intoxicated. There are a gazillion sports she could have chosen to help her get fit and strong that wouldn’t have upset me the least. Actually, I don't particularly like netball, but at least it isn’t aimed firmly at the sleaze market.

I know there is much popular psychobabble about reclaiming negative sexual stereotypes. This is apparently why women choose to dress in tiny tube dresses and ankle-breaking stilettos, or why teenagers wear pink sparkly Playboy t-shirts – not because they are desperate to get men to notice them, honest! I’ve heard people pontificate about empowerment, control and turning the male gaze in on itself, but that’s basically crap.

If pole dancing is really so liberating and aerobically challenging, why don’t men do it? If a woman wants to develop her upper body and core strength she could try gym-work, water-skiing, wind-surfing, X-country skiing, swimming, yoga, rowing, athletic field events, gymnastics, rugby, basketball… The list is endless. If she wants to dance then there are infinite varieties she could attempt from ballet to tap, ballroom to hip-hop. Pole ‘dancing’ is a very limited form of movement all things considered. If she wants to support the male-dominated sex industry and present herself as a hooker (albeit a flexible one) then she should consider pole dancing.

It may just be the latest craze, but it is one that debases women (or, worse, makes them debase themselves) by objectifying themselves and creeping back to a misogynistic past. It’s not just a bit of fun; it’s dirty, filthy dancing on the graves of the women who fought (in some instances with their lives) for our right to be equal. Women have a responsibility not to trample on this right so carelessly.

Stepping Up

A friend of mine told me she had started wearing a pedometer – you know; one of those things that count your steps. The recommended number of steps is 10,000 a day for adults (children need to do more) - that's just to maintain a healthy weight - you need to do more if you want to lose weight. Apparently most of us don’t do enough.

She said she was feeling pretty smug because she went for a half-hour run a day, but she has a sedentary job, answering phone calls, and was alarmed to find that although she considered herself to be reasonably fit, she wasn’t doing the required number of steps.

As a writer, I too have a sedentary job so I wondered how many steps I do a day. I have been wearing one of these devices for the past three months (apart from the odd occasion when I wear a dress – there is no way you can ‘discreetly’ clip it to your knickers) and I can scientifically tell you that my average daily step count is 10,251.

Yes, that’s not bad (and no, that's not me - sadly), but the thing is that I was training for a 10km in that time. I am now training for a triathlon series so some of the steps have been replaced by swims and bikes – these don’t count on the gadget.

I reckon I’m okay because I make myself walk into town every day (that’s 4,000 steps and approximately a kilometre each way). I get lonely working from home and have to see or speak to a real person at least once a day, so I post letters or buy bread or just have a coffee at the cafe, so that I can have human contact.

There is a lot of support for people to be active for at least half an hour a day, which is a good thing – but if you are walking as your activity, that’s about 4,000 steps. I’ve seen people drive to the gym rather than walk, do a work-out on some machines, and then drive back to their office and sit at their computer. It’s not enough.

Adverts trumpet the benefit of various contraptions that look like instruments of torture and fold conveniently under the bed. Apparently they work all your core muscle groups in three minutes. That’s nowhere near enough steps.

Of course, people with active jobs in service and trades will do plenty of paces. I've seen stats that show how many kilometres people run in football matches (Stevie G does about 10km).

Some canny children in surveys tie them to their pets' collars - I bet some of those dogs do heaps!

But so many of us work from home or from offices on computers and only get up to make a cup of tea or go to the toilet. Retail assistants spend a lot of time on their feet, but it’s standing still. Bank clerks, receptionists, and teachers are going nowhere – literally if not metaphorically.

I’m not suggesting that everyone run a marathon, but it is quite frightening to think how many more steps most of us need to do.