Tag Archives: wytheville community center

Ai-eeeee/I mean chi

One reason I like Wytheville Community Center’s facilities so much is the pool. Reasons, one might say, because they have four. The regular lane swimming pool and the kiddy area are interconnected by a three foot wader access. These are kept about 84 degrees–according to the facility. Those of us plunging in for semi-weekly aerobic classes beg to differ.

Then there is a small therapy pool, kept around 94 and big enough for 6 people to social distance. The hot tub (limit 3) is around 104. One sees the emerging pattern. It is a great delight to emerge from the big pool after class and sit a happy five minutes in the hot tub with two other women, discussing the events of the class or the week.

In addition to the classes throwing me into cold water twice weekly, I decided to try Ai Chi. Tai chi in the water, yep. Problem: it is popular. The WCC has people sign up for their classes on the third Wednesday monthly. Your attendance for years (perhaps decades) is not protection; everyone applies again on that Wednesday. It’s not unlike working for state or county government and being suddenly required to reapply for your 25+ year position.

They do that so young whippersnappers like me have a chance to get in. I took advantage in December and arose at 6:03 am to call the front desk and secure an Ai chi spot. Even as they sent the confirming email, I felt a great disturbance in the force, the voice of someone somewhere crying out at being shoved from the therapy pool.

The first week I showed up, so did she. It is standard practice for wait-listers to hang out and take the spots of no-shows for that session. If someone hasn’t called in but misses three times, you get their spot. (Not much consolation in a monthly regimen, but there it is.)

Let’s call her Lydia. I took her spot. She had plans. So did her friends, already waiting in the pool. Why did my mind flash an image of crocodile eyes just above water in a still river?

They were all older women, and as a true Appalachian I have been raised to respect my elders. I gave them each a friendly nod, recognizing most from the deep water aerobics class immediately before. (I dropped that morning class in favor of a far less crowded evening class that turned out to have much greater age diversity.)

“Welcome to Ai chi, newbies.” Only I was new. I took a position near the steps. Thin stretched smiles, and “well look who’s joining us, welcome aboard dear” comments, ensued. I could feel hostility entering my body and accelerating my heartbeat.

Stretches began to soft synthesizer music. I felt something brush my thigh. Lydia was moving in. She had taken the position immediately before me at the steps, a little close but I wasn’t in a position to argue. As the class progressed, she moved closer with every stretch, always with her back toward me, until by the time we were doing the free float, I was scrunched in a corner, no place for my feet to reach surface.

I did briefly consider one good mule kick to clear space, but she is older and would bruise easily. Please see: Appalachian values. Also, by then I had ascertained the relationship of Ai chi to the two things I sought: relaxation, and stimulation.

Relaxing, not so much, as I cowered against the wall while the rest of them stretched into warrior poses. Stimulating, yes; it felt like fighting for survival up in here. One of them turned, and her warrior palm extended into something resembling a blade as she aimed at me. She smiled…..

Last Wednesday was the signup for next month. I dropped Ai chi in favor of a nice safe Zumba class. Nobody puts Lydia in a corner.

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Filed under humor, Life reflections, small town USA, Uncategorized, Wendy Welch

Irene and the Dancing Caterpillars

Zumba class is on Thursdays in a studio lined with mirrors.

The instructor Irene is a curvy woman, Indigenous from Mexico, who favors comedic songs. We love Irene; she makes Zumba so fun, you don’t notice you’re exercising. She makes us feel graceful and competent, like track stars.

Endorphins can be deceptive. If you actually look in the mirror as we collectively execute that Bollywood sweeping ankle uplift, foot flexed, well, some people, including you, might look silly. The men in particular are trying very hard to retain their dignity and their balance. These are connected.

Like all lifelong introverts, I excel at spatial orientation, so found the one place in the studio where I can see Irene but not myself in the mirror. Also, it is next to a fan.

Irene’s signature song is “Rollin on the River,” Ike and Tina Turner version. Anyone who knows that story recognizes the concert from which that recording comes is a famous one, because Ike beat Tina up shortly before. Tina talks about doing the song “nice and rough because that’s how we do things ‘round here.” Irene starts slow, going through the steps twice to make sure we have it. You can tell when the song is about to up tempo, because Irene starts grinning.

Then we’re off, flying triple speed through grapevines and stomps forward/backward, big wheel arm movements, and there’s no time to think, count movements, do anything except breathe, move, swing, stomp, turn, don’t hit your neighbor with the big wheel arm, grapevine.

The song moves so much, we wind up all over the studio. Which means we can see each other, all these women and two men trying hard to simply try hard. We wriggle and swing and look pretty much like sectional caterpillars attempting to exit cocoons after a large dinner. Sensible pageboy cuts and backs of balding heads swirl in the wrong direction as you realize you’re facing them when you should be facing away. They are laughing, but not from schadenfreude. From communal joy.

Not actual footage of the Zumba class

Because we’re not trying to turn into butterflies, we wriggling caterpillars. As Irene has told us, we’re already beautiful, skins of nine different hues shining with sweat as we fling curvy bulky bits this way and that. (Our melatonin runs the gamut from Nordic to Saharan.) I will add that Zumba feels safer since I found a great sale on sports bras. Before that, the big wheel threatened to beat me to death with my own breasts.

Communal joy is hard to come by these days. Maybe it’s easy in Zumba because we’re moving too fast to talk. Or because we all know it could be us next time, facing the wrong way against the tide. Perhaps we just like the idea of a bunch of men and women gaining power from an iconic “me too” moment song. Or how Irene starts each class with such enthusiasm: “Just keep moving and have fun!”

We don’t care which it is, just that it is. All hail Irene and the community of dancing caterpillars.


Filed under humor, Life reflections, small town USA, Wendy Welch