Entry tags:
Balance
Oh, New York City Ballet Workout, where have you been all my life?
For the past year or more, I have been on the hunt for the Perfect Workout. One that's challenging but not grueling, that's enjoyable, that doesn't feel like candy-coated toxic medicine or phony garbage, that I feel *good* about doing. And while I've ultimately found about a half-dozen or so that fit this bill, I've found a heck of a lot more that fail spectacularly and in many ways. Today, I think I added another one to the Good list.
No neon costumes. No plastic smiles and perky exhortations to zip up my inner girdle or cutesy references to 'tummy toners' or 'fanny busters' or forced artificial fun; no suggestions that this is a party or a game or anything else that it isn't. No indication at all that I have any sort of relationship with the disembodied voice explaining to me what a grand plie is, or how to do a front attitude. Which is perfectly fine by me.
There was enough stretching - this in and of itself is nothing short of a miracle. The dance steps were actual dance steps, and yet there was no suggestion (as there is on most of the utterly dork-tastic hip hop workouts I've tried) that I could take these moves to the club and stun the opposite sex with my faboo maneuvers. And most of all, the exercises were actually in time to the background music, a rarity that makes my teeth and brain ache whenever it's missing.
I know I'm not a ballet dancer. I know I'm light years away from looking anything like the models in the video. And yet I feel so much better, and more graceful, and happier, after doing this... it's not the sweating, quivering, delicious full-body ache I get from an hour of circuit training, but it's an entirely different flavor of goodness. Like lemonade, instead of Jolt cola. I think I need to buy a copy....
(And as an aside, a world of gratitude to the Minuteman Library System and its interlibrary loan policies, its enormous collection, and its branch less than three blocks from my house. I don't know how I'd survive without all of that....)
For the past year or more, I have been on the hunt for the Perfect Workout. One that's challenging but not grueling, that's enjoyable, that doesn't feel like candy-coated toxic medicine or phony garbage, that I feel *good* about doing. And while I've ultimately found about a half-dozen or so that fit this bill, I've found a heck of a lot more that fail spectacularly and in many ways. Today, I think I added another one to the Good list.
No neon costumes. No plastic smiles and perky exhortations to zip up my inner girdle or cutesy references to 'tummy toners' or 'fanny busters' or forced artificial fun; no suggestions that this is a party or a game or anything else that it isn't. No indication at all that I have any sort of relationship with the disembodied voice explaining to me what a grand plie is, or how to do a front attitude. Which is perfectly fine by me.
There was enough stretching - this in and of itself is nothing short of a miracle. The dance steps were actual dance steps, and yet there was no suggestion (as there is on most of the utterly dork-tastic hip hop workouts I've tried) that I could take these moves to the club and stun the opposite sex with my faboo maneuvers. And most of all, the exercises were actually in time to the background music, a rarity that makes my teeth and brain ache whenever it's missing.
I know I'm not a ballet dancer. I know I'm light years away from looking anything like the models in the video. And yet I feel so much better, and more graceful, and happier, after doing this... it's not the sweating, quivering, delicious full-body ache I get from an hour of circuit training, but it's an entirely different flavor of goodness. Like lemonade, instead of Jolt cola. I think I need to buy a copy....
(And as an aside, a world of gratitude to the Minuteman Library System and its interlibrary loan policies, its enormous collection, and its branch less than three blocks from my house. I don't know how I'd survive without all of that....)