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!

Discovering New Life

Cleaning out my workspace today, I found these:

After some basic calculations, based on the age of the other sketches and doodles that were in the vicinity, I realized that I must have done these about two years ago. It was an odd sensation. Odd, because I had no recollection of ever doing them at all. I don't really recall what I was thinking or what the thought was behind these. But yet, there they were, among many other doodles that I could explain the origin of quite happily. The experience (I imagine) was not so different from doing an archaeological dig and coming up with the fossil of an entirely new species.

So, in keeping with the analogy, I have put on my biologist's hat and have given these poor unrecognized creatures a history:

Blind Date

My original thought for this doodle was along the lines of Red Riding Hood. But when the dragon character was done, I looked at him and found that, in spite of the toothy leer and eating utensils in his pocket, I felt rather sorry for him.

His coat might be pinstriped, but the poor creature either cannot afford a pair of pants or doesn't have friends who can tell him that going on a blind date commando-style is just not in. And while he's leaning rather intensely into his date, it may be a result of near-sightedness rather than a lack of respect for personal space. All in all, a pitiful creature and, I felt, much deserving of a blog post at the very least.

Eponine

"Come! Here he is!"

He raised his eyes, and recognized that wretched child who had come to him one morning, the elder of the Thenardier daughters, Eponine; he knew her name now. Strange to say, she had grown poorer and prettier, two steps which it had not seemed within her power to take. She had accomplished a double progress, towards the light and towards distress. She was barefooted and in rags, as on the day when she had so resolutely entered his chamber, only her rags were two months older now, the holes were larger, the tatters more sordid. It was the same harsh voice, the same brow dimmed and wrinkled with tan, the same free, wild, and vacillating glance. She had besides, more than formerly, in her face that indescribably terrified and lamentable something which sojourn in a prison adds to wretchedness.

She had bits of straw and hay in her hair, not like Ophelia through having gone mad from the contagion of Hamlet's madness, but because she had slept in the loft of some stable.

And in spite of all, she was beautiful. What a star art thou, O youth!

(Les Misérables - Victor Hugo)