Thursday, July 10, 2003
Get Some Balls
Last night I was supposed to meet my learner from Project Read, the adult literacy program run by the public library hereabouts. I’d set up to meet him for an introductory session four weeks ago but he missed the meeting - just forgot about it. We met the following week instead; he even called me the day before to re-confirm. But then he called an hour before our next meeting (which was to be our second) to postpone it from Tuesday to Thursday. Come Thursday, he’s a no-show. I call him the next Monday to check in and see if we can have our meeting that week on Wednesday. He’s okay with that. Last night was Wednesday night and he didn’t show up again. I’m going to be “depaired” and “rematched.” These phrases have a very Logan’s Run sort of feel to them on one level. But on another, more relevant level, I found this pretty irritating. I’d been waiting for a year to get into this program and start doing some tutoring, and now here’s someone who’s wasted another month of my time. I wish him an improved sense of focus or timing or whatever he needs, and all other good things, and I’ll be assigned to someone soon who will undoubtedly be more reliable. And probably a supermodel.
I hadn’t yet taken this final leap into irrational fantasy as I rode two busses home from the Library last night. I just got tense and clenched my jaw. Then I picked up a 40lb bag of dog food at the shop on the corner and got to the house in a moderate dudgeon. Kel had been and gone already - she had a woman’s group to attend and somehow I hadn’t been invited. The evening light poured through the wide west-facing windows of the living room, over the long stand of eukes and pines across the street. I pulled out one of the new yoga mats and an old favorite yoga tape, which I ran all the way up through a series of strength exercises I usually skip. Plus, I exercised unencumbered by the confinements of garmenting. Yoga is a lot more satisfying with one’s loins ungirded. It was an invigorating and fulfilling workout. It was good to notice that I was significantly stronger than I had been last time I’d tried those exercises. And in the end I was able to leave my lame learner behind in the dust of an ended day.
That sort of makes up for my having had the world’s LAMEST workout on Saturday. Kel finally got me to do a videotaped “exercise ball” workout with her. I don’t think I have a problem with the balls themselves - we have two of them now and they’re good company. But this workout - no. Osteoarthritics in swimming pools do more vigorous exercise; Hippity-Hops are more dignified. The key seems to be diaphragmatic and facial control, without which you’d just collapse with hysterical laughter at these pathetic excuses for physical activity. At one point the human version of a cherry pixie stick who’s running the show has got me bouncing on the ball, swinging my arms… One thought, and one thought alone, occupied my mind: I have never looked even remotely so silly in my entire life before, and I have looked pretty damn silly on occasion. So we’ve learned an important lesson here. Stop fidgeting. We’re almost done.
Because we’ve given short shrift to our good friends, the balls. My point, really, is: I like the balance balls. We have a mushy yellow 75 cm and a firm blue-green 65 cm. They’re great as spare seating or a foot rest. It’s fun to have them around. Except - they really do seem to have some level of sentience. It’s both comforting and disturbing. You could call it “comforsturbing,” if you wished. I come home and big yellow rolls over to say hello. When we had a blackout some years back our ball really seemed to roll around the darkened flat following me - I tripped over it in every room, I think. That ball died tragically, but we moved on and replaced it with big yellow, which isn’t a great ball for exercise (too mushy) but is an excellent companion. New blue is a pretty good ball for exercise, but seems a bit underdeveloped in the personality department. Well, you can’t rush these things.
