It was the jiggle that caught my attention. Not the perfectly executed front snap kick, nor the full force back fist, no, no, it was the punch-jiggle, kick-jiggle, and after a resounding KIAI, the mortifying chin-jiggle that grabbed my attention like a leak in a rain boot does. Ugh. It was a long hour.
It has been a long Spring too. Perfect for gardening. Ideal for cherry pie picnics on green lawns. A Spring that keeps giving us one more rainy day to curl up with a good book. Spending time in karate class punching air and doing FORWARD ROLLS! seems misguided, possibly detrimental.
My sister and I were talking about our father’s mother, our grandmother, Isabelle. My sister pointed out that Isabelle never once in her life had the thought: I should go to the gym. She would have been more likely to chide herself for baking one pie instead of two or carrying groceries to the car when she could get the bag-boy to do it.
My grandmother was more practical than I am and as soft as a pillow. She took care of her jiggle by wearing a girdle (at least on Sundays) and used her flabby arms for hugging her twenty grandchildren. She always seemed happy with herself.
But in 2016 a woman in her sixties must address her jiggle with displeasure and a membership to the gym, or the yoga studio, or Pilates, or swimming laps, or hill hiking, rock climbing, bicycling, or…go to the dojo and make a total fool of herself.
Couldn’t I just garden? Like a lady. Like a lady gardener in white gloves and a ribboned hat; the same as Isabelle wore when she pruned her prize winning roses. No. Instead, I’m wearing a less than flattering gi (karate uniform) with a white belt tied around the circumference of my nonexistent waist doing FORWARD ROLL-JIGGLES! Think about it; when was the last time you did a summersault?
My grandmother would be appalled. My aphid covered roses look like hell. I’ll throw-up if I do more than three forward rolls in a row. My jiggle is here to stay. Oddly: I’m happy with myself. Literally head over heels giggly with the pleasure of surprising myself each time I show up to Friday noon class. So much so I’ve added Pilates, bicycling, and hiking into my week. I’m going for giddy!
And you dear reader? How are you getting your giddy? Dancing? Fencing? Eating cherry pie at the finish of a 10k run? Now that sitting is the new smoking–sixties’ are the new no-sitting-zone. You could just stand there in your white gloves and ribboned hat pruning roses, or…join me at the dojo to punch some air. (jiggle optional)