Photo by Sabrina Campagna via FlickrLast night, I went with a friend to a long-discussed hip hop class. At a real-live dance studio. With real dancers. It was a blast. I haven't danced on a regular basis since high school, when my career in musicals was cut short by the director's unfortunate choice of "My Fair Lady" as my senior-year musical. I had campaigned for "Grease," having wanted to play Rizzo forevah. Nary a jazz hand since.
Although the dancers last night were almost all - ok maybe all - better and smoother and hip-hoppier than I am, it was great to move my body like that. To allow it to have some attitude, and a little sexiness. It felt great to sweat unconsciously, because I was just trying to keep up, to learn the next move.
I was, however, extremely body-conscious. I was in a room full of people who take dance pretty seriously, and their bodies show it. They were thin, strong, beautiful. I felt rather huge and clumsy in comparison. Granted, even at the thinnest I would ever want to be, I'd still be way bigger than most of those girls, and several of the guys. I'm 5'9", built like I should be pushing a plow through a giant field of wheat. So whatever. I know that, and mostly it's ok. I just miss the feeling of being at home in my body. I almost never do. Right now, it just feels like too much.
The teacher last night was great. Complimentary without being schmaltzy, with enviable moves and attitude. I can't wait to go back to her class, which I'll definitely do soon. Until then, I'll practice my pop and um...little groove.
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