What's the first thing I did when I got more energy and started taking pounds off? I got a mistress, of course. Isn't that what everyone does?
We met through our mutual friend, Robyn. They've known each other for a while. When we were introduced, I instantly wanted to make her mine.
Beautiful, isn't she? I was really into her from the very first time, and I knew I had to make her mine. I see her every day, and I think about her when we're apart. My relationship with her is growing into something of an obsession, but it's not a bad thing. We get along fine when she's not bringing me to the verge of tears.
See, I've tried all different types of exercise. Their repetitive, mundane nature bores me and I end up ditching them within a few weeks or months. Not so with hooping: I love the feel of the hoop in my hands, the almost meditative nature of getting into the flow. I can work with just about any music, and make every single workout unique. It's a dance that just happens to work the body and firm it up - that's the bonus, not the goal. There are no repetitions, no yelling instructors, no measuring tapes, no scales, no competition. It's just me, my hoop, the music, and the energy in whatever room I'm in with whoever's in it.
(Yes, I realize I sound like a hippy. No, I do not need a hemp dress and a bushel of organic potatoes. Now quit snickering and keep reading.)
Robyn started teaching a beginner's course in our area, so I joined up. She also introduced the group of us to Sirenhoops.com 's hoop jams every second Friday at the Dovercourt Community Centre in Ottawa, so I've started going to that, too. I even joined a couple of online hooping communities: HoopCity.ca and Hooping.org. My friend Liliane even bought me my hoop - the beautiful, sparkly one featured above - through Sirenhoops, making me an official hooper. Everything is going as it should.
Except that I really fucking suck.
Oops. Sorry. I'm not supposed to say that. I'm supposed to stay positive. The hooping community is by far the most accepting, encouraging, caring community I've seen outside of self-help groups (and believe me, I've been in enough of those). They don't judge, they offer guidance, they pat me on the back and tell me that it will come eventually, they celebrate when I accomplish something. But when you're the only person in your hooping class who can't get the hoop to stay up around the waist, it's a bit of an kill joy. And as I see everyone progressing further and further along the path of hooping greatness, I get a little discouraged at trailing along behind, still trying to get the basics down.
The Maven has always employed an ego-boosting tactic: she has always done things she is reasonably sure she will totally rock at. Postpartum breastfeeding support: I am awesome. Writing: Very awesome. Being popular: Killer awesome. Being a mom: I have to make sure I don't drown my children in the awesomesauce that flows forth from my maternal instinct. By all accounts, I make it look like the "A" in my DNA stands for awesome.
And then there's the hooping thing.
I knew from the first time Robyn brought her hoops to a party that I didn't have any natural talent for it. While nearly everyone else was effortlessly whipping the circular piece of plastic around their waists and exclaiming "Wow! This is fun!" I was quick to drop (or "crash" as the community often calls it) the hoop repeatedly. But I knew I could enjoy it once I got it, and I was sure it wouldn't take that long. Nothing takes me that long. I'm The Maven, for crying out loud.
This, of course, has turned into a lot of painfully frustrating workouts where I wonder if I'll ever be able to figure out such a basic hooping maneuver. But I keep trying because I love doing it - or the idea of doing it - and because it's good for my ego to try hard at things. I might even grow a bit of self-esteem - imagine that!
Good things can come out of working through one's frustration. Robyn suggested that I take breaks when I feel overwhelmed at trying to get the hoop going and "play" with my hoop doing off-the-body tricks. Well, as it turns out, I'm not too shabby at it. I can make the hoop do things I don't even realize I'm making it do. And, while I still have a lot of work and practice ahead of me to get good at it, the hand tricks I'm learning come easily, and I now have my heart set on a pair of smaller hoops called "twins" to advance even further.
At last night's hoop jam, a friend of mine complimented me on my off-the-body work. I thanked her, but explained the situation to her like this:
Imagine that I'm a dude. If it helps, you can call this male me "The Marvin".
The Marvin has a small penis. My small penis is waist hooping.
I am rather embarrassed by my small penis. I keep trying to make it bigger - Swedish penis pumps and imported herbs and the like - but it's still, like, 2.4 inches long and prevents me from wanting to wear a speedo at the beach. This makes The Marvin feel inadequate.
One day, The Marvin realized he could just get a sports car. As long as I'm driving my Ferrari around town, I feel better about myself. It's my shiny, manly penis extension.
And, as you probably could have guessed, my penis extension is off-the-body hooping.
So right now Idrive around hand hoop to forget the fact that I feel inadequate in other areas. The only problem is that a whole heck of a lot of hand hooping - especially with a heavy beginner's hoop like mine - really freaking hurts. I have bruises on the backs of each hand the size of a toonie; Proof that my ego needs to a take a backseat more often. I have to take a deep breath, suck it up, stop worrying about what everyone else might be thinking, and waist hoop like a madwoman until it actually stays around my body for more than three seconds at a time.
I can get this. And when I do, I'm going to be a really happy Maven who will swing her proverbial package around proudly. But until then, I do look sexy in my sports car.
We met through our mutual friend, Robyn. They've known each other for a while. When we were introduced, I instantly wanted to make her mine.
 |
| "Maven, meet Hooping. Hooping, this is The Maven." |
Beautiful, isn't she? I was really into her from the very first time, and I knew I had to make her mine. I see her every day, and I think about her when we're apart. My relationship with her is growing into something of an obsession, but it's not a bad thing. We get along fine when she's not bringing me to the verge of tears.
See, I've tried all different types of exercise. Their repetitive, mundane nature bores me and I end up ditching them within a few weeks or months. Not so with hooping: I love the feel of the hoop in my hands, the almost meditative nature of getting into the flow. I can work with just about any music, and make every single workout unique. It's a dance that just happens to work the body and firm it up - that's the bonus, not the goal. There are no repetitions, no yelling instructors, no measuring tapes, no scales, no competition. It's just me, my hoop, the music, and the energy in whatever room I'm in with whoever's in it.
(Yes, I realize I sound like a hippy. No, I do not need a hemp dress and a bushel of organic potatoes. Now quit snickering and keep reading.)
Robyn started teaching a beginner's course in our area, so I joined up. She also introduced the group of us to Sirenhoops.com 's hoop jams every second Friday at the Dovercourt Community Centre in Ottawa, so I've started going to that, too. I even joined a couple of online hooping communities: HoopCity.ca and Hooping.org. My friend Liliane even bought me my hoop - the beautiful, sparkly one featured above - through Sirenhoops, making me an official hooper. Everything is going as it should.
Except that I really fucking suck.
Oops. Sorry. I'm not supposed to say that. I'm supposed to stay positive. The hooping community is by far the most accepting, encouraging, caring community I've seen outside of self-help groups (and believe me, I've been in enough of those). They don't judge, they offer guidance, they pat me on the back and tell me that it will come eventually, they celebrate when I accomplish something. But when you're the only person in your hooping class who can't get the hoop to stay up around the waist, it's a bit of an kill joy. And as I see everyone progressing further and further along the path of hooping greatness, I get a little discouraged at trailing along behind, still trying to get the basics down.
The Maven has always employed an ego-boosting tactic: she has always done things she is reasonably sure she will totally rock at. Postpartum breastfeeding support: I am awesome. Writing: Very awesome. Being popular: Killer awesome. Being a mom: I have to make sure I don't drown my children in the awesomesauce that flows forth from my maternal instinct. By all accounts, I make it look like the "A" in my DNA stands for awesome.
And then there's the hooping thing.
I knew from the first time Robyn brought her hoops to a party that I didn't have any natural talent for it. While nearly everyone else was effortlessly whipping the circular piece of plastic around their waists and exclaiming "Wow! This is fun!" I was quick to drop (or "crash" as the community often calls it) the hoop repeatedly. But I knew I could enjoy it once I got it, and I was sure it wouldn't take that long. Nothing takes me that long. I'm The Maven, for crying out loud.
This, of course, has turned into a lot of painfully frustrating workouts where I wonder if I'll ever be able to figure out such a basic hooping maneuver. But I keep trying because I love doing it - or the idea of doing it - and because it's good for my ego to try hard at things. I might even grow a bit of self-esteem - imagine that!
Good things can come out of working through one's frustration. Robyn suggested that I take breaks when I feel overwhelmed at trying to get the hoop going and "play" with my hoop doing off-the-body tricks. Well, as it turns out, I'm not too shabby at it. I can make the hoop do things I don't even realize I'm making it do. And, while I still have a lot of work and practice ahead of me to get good at it, the hand tricks I'm learning come easily, and I now have my heart set on a pair of smaller hoops called "twins" to advance even further.
At last night's hoop jam, a friend of mine complimented me on my off-the-body work. I thanked her, but explained the situation to her like this:
Imagine that I'm a dude. If it helps, you can call this male me "The Marvin".
The Marvin has a small penis. My small penis is waist hooping.
I am rather embarrassed by my small penis. I keep trying to make it bigger - Swedish penis pumps and imported herbs and the like - but it's still, like, 2.4 inches long and prevents me from wanting to wear a speedo at the beach. This makes The Marvin feel inadequate.
One day, The Marvin realized he could just get a sports car. As long as I'm driving my Ferrari around town, I feel better about myself. It's my shiny, manly penis extension.
And, as you probably could have guessed, my penis extension is off-the-body hooping.
So right now I
I can get this. And when I do, I'm going to be a really happy Maven who will swing her proverbial package around proudly. But until then, I do look sexy in my sports car.
