Inertia Has a Lot to Do With It

I got lucky when the piano school rejected me at four. Too young, they said, so my mother took me down to the dance studio, and they happily took her money.

There was the requisite  starter kit (tap/jazz/ballet) and those recitals my father was forced to endure. Later Pilates, spinning, weight lifting, yoga, tai chi, running, and, for nearly a decade, Dance Trance classes under the direction of our devoted instructor Sandi.

Thank god there’s a place for dancers of a certain age, with deteriorating joints and chaotic lives. With busy moms throwing down to Em and Gaga, I never have an excuse to skip out.

Over the years we’ve committed 300 routines to memory, so I’m pretty sure this class is staving off Alzheimer’s as well as ass fat. Of course, exercisers everywhere know it’s about so much more than keeping the weight off. It’s that creative trance that consumes your concentration and floods your brain with sweet endorphin ecstasy—the only kind I can handle anymore.

Some nights, the main objective is avoiding a crippling injury. But it still feels as good as the very first curtain call.

So mothers, and all molders of little people: instead of going broke over iPads and $100 jeans, give your kid the gift of dance (or piano or voice lessons or rock climbing classes) and they’ll always have a haven when life is one big, stressful mess. Or even an occasional bore.

Here I will chronicle the challenges of chasing after fitness and forcing it into submission. As well as the sports bras, dance sneakers, physical therapists, and pillow-top mattresses that are making it all possible.