Confessions From the Irish Dance Floor

Last night I went to my very first adult Irish dance lesson. I didn’t know what to expect really except the fact that I would be sore in the morning (as prophesied by a friend). I knew that other moms couldn’t make it until the next week but a 16 year old would be in the class that evening – just what my 40 something year old ego needed. So I was very happy when another 40 something mom showed up and equally glad that someone other than our owner would be teaching us. Some how that made us a little more confident that our teacher would be laughing with us instead of laughing at us – however the laughing was to come in the form of the senior dancers peeking into our studio as they passed by en route to the water fountain. After a few gentle warm ups the fun began. We started out with the same basic steps that the 5 year olds learned – 3s, Hop, Toe, Step and 7s. It was simple enough and soon the three of us were dancing across the floor. Then, Eileen started increasing the music speed until it was “normal” and asked us to dance around the perimeter of the studio. It was at this point I was sorry I didn’t invest in that oxygen tank like I wanted to and the crutches I noticed in the office suddenly looked appealing. The other mom said at one point she had a whole new respect for her son and I had to agree.

As I crawled – I mean walked into the house my daughter (who has not been thrilled about the idea of me dancing) came running to me asking how the class was and wanting to see what I learned. So I began to demonstrate Hop, Toe, Step only to be told I was doing it all wrong and she began to show me how to do it correctly. Everyone’s a critic aren’t they? Of course I had to let her know that I was complimented on my turn out – something that’s been nagging her and that quickly shut her up. It didn’t take long, however, for rigor mortis to set in and even though I did some post dance stretching it was becoming apparent that I was going to need a strong dose of Ben Gay, Tired Old Ass Soak (yes there’s a product called that sold through a mail order catalog), Bushmills or all of the above. I settled for the Ben Gay and a big glass of water. After whining a bit on Facebook and Twitter I decided it was time for bed but was seriously dreading what the morning would bring. To my surprise I wasn’t as sore as I thought I’d be and I am looking forward to the next class but not the mirrors in the studio that make me look fat. It’s the mirrors right – not the x amount of pounds I’ve gained (all of which I found on the dance floor Monday night) since the last time I took dance classes.

All kidding aside Irish dance is a great workout, challenging dance style and a good time for all ages. For all those reasons I’m looking forward to going back to the next class but will look into that oxygen tank just to be safe! Til next time – Slainte!

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