I love to dance — and Halloween was the perfect excuse to get my party on.
Back in college I was The Dancing Queen (always sleeping off the pain the next day). Most people were none the wiser. C’mon, everyone was sleeping off something from the night before.
However these days, with the responsibilities of adulthood, I seem to only find myself dancing impromptu in the kitchen while cooking (OK, while watching my boyfriend cook) or when a burst of energy compels me to leap off the couch and try my hand (feet?) at the routines on “So You Think You Can Dance.”
Come Halloween 2009, I was ready to take the night by storm and slay any vampires and angels who came across my path. As I descended onto the dance floor, this dutiful dancing queen proceeded to shake it to the driving beats.
Eight minutes later … and I was huffin’ and puffin’. My arms felt heavy. My knees weren’t following my commands. Thoughts raced through my head. Why was I winded? Is this what being a thirty-something feels like? Or is it my crazy Lupi-derma-nosis making me tired?
The next morning, I didn’t have to sleep off the pain. (Hallelujah! An early start to the day!) It turns out I discovered something new for myself — a new, adult, arthritic way to get my groove on.
I used to be the girl dancing on tables for hours (my dad always said I wasn’t a fragile flower). What happened to the girl who used to play G.I. Joe with plastic guns? Where was that badass now?
The next morning, I didn’t have to sleep off the pain. (Hallelujah! An early start to the day!) It turns out I discovered something new for myself — a new, adult, arthritic way to get my groove on. Armed with extra pain pills, I shake it for a bit … pause to catch my breath and ease out the aches … and then catch up to the beat again after a few minutes.
So maybe there’s no ticket to Vegas or hot tamale train in my immediate future, but dancing on tables occasionally? Most definitely.