Why I Don't Want to be a Unicorn

In trying to tell people about acrobatics, what it is, and why I love it, I usually get one of two reactions:
1) "You're crazy, but in a good way."
2) "You're just crazy."

I think I've realised why both these reactions feel unsatisfactory to me: it makes me feel like a unicorn.

Unicorns are very rare creatures - so rare in fact that they're extinct. People don't think about unicorns on a regular basis, but when they do, they regard them with a mixture of fascination and the knowledge that they need to hold them at arm's length. This is because people who cuddle unicorns, as bright and shiny as they may be, are generally frowned upon by society.

I don't want to be a unicorn. I want to be a dog. A big fluffy golden retriever that people want to engage with. When I say, "I do acrobatics", I want people to react to it like I just said, "I run," or even, "I love golf." I want there to be a chance that people will say, "Hey, me too! We should do it together sometime!"

The process of becoming a unicorn: This means more to me than just being able to do handstands.

The process of becoming a unicorn isn't without its upsides though. In a strange way, I can't help but relate this to sharing my faith in God. Now, I realise that in saying this, I've made myself an even rarer kind of unicorn, the acrobatic God-loving kind. And how many of those are there?

Being uncomfortable in life was definitely not my goal. But I'm beginning to understand why it's so important. At the end of my life, I want to know that I stood for the things that are not only important to me, but important for the future. And you just can't do that by sitting on the fence.

A Re-Cap

Acro(batics) is a weird thing. After a huge spike in the first month of realising what I could do, I suddenly had one day where I could not do a handstand against a wall. No matter how much I threw myself into it, I'd come down again without even hitting the wall. It got to a point where I was actually wondering if I just had too much hair and if it was throwing my balance off.

I stopped trying (handstands, not acro) for about a month.

Today, after too much white flour and pizza, I told my lazy butt to get up there and do it again. And so I did. Again and again. The photo looks terrible but I'm really celebrating (as much as possible while upside-down). The feeling of talking yourself out of self-doubt and experiencing success must be pretty much on par with doing something for the very first time. It's not over yet!

Stopping Myself

These two pictures represent milestones for me. Causes for celebration, yes.
But I also am aware that they're still not handstands!

Just a quick update on handstands. I still can't do them. I can't understand it because I know that physically, I am capable of doing them. But without a spotter, something very close to fear stops me from hitting the mark. So I end up kicking sideways, falling in painful ways or just not trying very hard at all.

Being upside-down isn't the problem. I've realized that it comes down to a mental thing. And maybe that's why it's so hard: trying to think yourself out of a thinking seems rather circular in nature!

I tried again today and after a warning twist in my neck (nothing serious, but enough to make me stop), I think I'll tackle this challenge another day.

Handstands, Part 2

What doesn't kill you will make you stronger. That's the clichéd saying, isn't it? But today, I'm feeling that mastering a handstand by myself will be something that I look back on for encouragement...that is if I don't injure myself first.

Yesterday, I tried doing a handstand with a wall for support. The result was that with only three directions to fall, I fell sideways, which was more uncomfortable than just free-falling.

Today (after breakfast, no less), I employed Chad to spot me. So three handstands later, here's the rundown:

Figure A:

Launch sequence activated after much swallowing and wiping of sweaty palms.

Figure B:

Arms straight: √

Looking at wall, not at ground: √

Hips thrust: √

Legs straight: √

Core stomach muscles engaged: X

= still unable to support myself

I'd like to think that the massive amount of hair I have is contributing to being unbalanced. But that'd probably be a cop-out. It feels like riding a bike all over again. But the good news is that I did eventually learn to ride a bike. Hopefully this is going in the same direction.

Handstands

I can't do them. The last time I remembered trying to do handstand was in elementary school during gym class. I watched as one of my classmates went up successfully into a handstand and then came crashing down, landing her with a broken arm and a trip to the hospital. That was over twenty years ago and I have never had the urge to try doing a handstand since then.

I still didn't have any such urge when I visited a community circus this week for the first time. And my enthusiasm for trying some acrobatics was very nearly quashed when I realized how many moves involved being upside-down.

So when the lady who was coaching us told me to do a handstand, flip over, and then land with my back on her upturned feet, I genuinely felt scared. There are not many things I will walk away from, but I nearly expanded my meager list that day.

"I believe that you can do it," said the coach. I realized that while I believed she was being genuine, it was still not enough to convince me to do it. I needed to believe that I could do it. I also realized two more things:

Practicing some other acrobatics at home. What a workout!

1. I needed to imagine how to do it successfully rather than think about how to do it unsuccessfully.
2. If I walked away, I would not be able to let it go.

So I did it. Blanked out my mind, focused only on the successful outcome, and did it. And as I landed neatly on her feet unscathed, I nearly cried from relief and elation.

33 years old and I can do handstands.

Next step: figure out how to stay in a handstand!