La Buffness

Like many humans of the Western female persuasion, I have spent a fair bit of my life attempting to be very slim. It's always seemed a fairly obvious goal to have and in theory not unattainable, since (although I eat like a horse and have a weakness for stodge) I mostly enjoy healthy food, walk everywhere, and am genetically inclined away from obesity. I'm no chubber, but the 'ideal' size and weight has always just been slightly down the road a stretch - there's always seemed a lot of room to be skinnier and smaller, even when I've been at my skinniest and smallest. And somehow I've never questioned whether I should want that or not, or what the implications could be.

But...why should women all want to be physically less? So they can look extra weak and in need of protection at all times? So they can take up less of the precious space that men should rightfully occupy, with their own societally imposed ideal of being Bigger and Stronger? Hmmm. My strident feminist side isn't too keen on either of those ideas.

Im not saying that I'm pro-fat. I am still the product of my own society after all; I spent way too many years (age 11 to age 30 to be precise) devouring fashion magazines to be that mentally liberated. And to be frank, I don't think getting fatter would help me be healthier, feel more energetic or improve my aerial skills, all of which are dear to my heart. But I've decided that I am pro-lady muscles. Not quite world champion body-builder lady muscles, since I find that kind of thing a bit creepy on both sexes, but just some high-standard female buffness.

Maybe this is an inevitable result of doing a bit of aerial conditioning and being obsessed with an activity that requires a fair bit of strength, but I have suddenly become very excited about the idea of being SUPER RIPPED.

This is where I'm at right now:

As you can see, I have... can we just say, a little way to go? before I can lay claim to anything approaching buff. But it's definitely the new goal that I am using to barge the 'get smaller' mindset out of the way. 'Get bigger' feels like a much more satisfying aim to me. Why shouldn't I look like I can handle myself in an arm wrestling contest/move my own furniture/rip your head off with my bare hands? Why shouldn't I take up a bit more space as I move through this world of ours? And - bonus!- this goal will allow me to actually enjoy food rather than increasing the background rumble of guilt that has dogged many a meal (cake binge) of mine over the years.

You never know, maybe one day I will reach the dizzying heights of this CRAZY girl, holy crap she's amazing:

Back On The Old Equine Beast

Borrowed from http://thatcuriousloveofgreen.com

If you've been following closely you'll remember that at the end of last month I was all fired up about aerial rope and in a quandry over whether to carry on with that, or stick to my 'first love' of static trapeze. Well! As it turns out, THAT was a big fat waste of brain space, since on the day the classes went on sale I spent 45 minutes trying to get through to the National Centre for Circus Arts on the phone, only to be told all the places on Aerial 2 were sold out.

No static trapeze OR rope for me then.

F*$%ing Sh*&ting B*&%$cks!!

To say I was disappointed is a radical understatement, possibly showing that I have far too much tied up with this whole circus skills business, but also testament to the fact that the classes at NCCA are just really good.  Because they are grouped by skill level and have a progressive nature, it means you get (in theory anyway) teaching tailored to your ability and a feeling of personal development. Plus, because you have to sign up for a whole term at once, people on the courses are more committed and come back every week, which makes it feel consistent.  This is quite comforting and slightly 'sense-of-community building' in a city where everyone is in a big transient, unreliable state of flow.

London is just ridiculous. There is literally frenzied competition for everything, even things that involve you spending lots of money on the relatively inessential. It is also really difficult to achieve a feeling of stability - at least as an incomer - because of the constant changeability and lack of commitment.  Everyone and everything is available, but everyone and everything is replaceable. You can escape anything you don't like, the second it becomes tiresome, and never think about it again - but equally, the smallest eddy of the city's current can just wash away part of your life that you were really enjoying.

Aww look at it though, it's kinda lovely no? This was the view from Cambridge Heath train station a few nights ago...

There are times when I absolutely hate London and can't think what the hell I'm doing here (especially when looking for a reasonably priced, non-horrific, new place to live, which I have been doing unsuccessfully for the last month) yet somehow I can't quite process the thought of leaving now either. Crap.

I'll be clinging on for a bit then.

And (having grumbled bitterly into my beard, licked my wounds, and sulked in my room for a few weeks) switching my god damn circus class loyalty to Gravity Circus in Leyton, where I have started doing Aerial Hoop. Raarrrrgh! YOU CAN'T KILL MY OBSESSION THAT EASILY.  Not quite the same as doing Aerial 2 at NCCA, since the classes are drop-in and even the teacher just temporary cover, but hopefully achieving a similar effect - at the moment mostly hand blisters and copious bruising.

Yup, if you've been refused the chance to pay large amounts of money to experience pain and intense physical challenge in one place in London, there'll always be another where you can! And that's why I love it.

Everything But The Circus - Part Two

Ehem, bit more of a gap between Parts 1 and 2 than I intended (it's been my birthday, can I use that as an excuse? Busy at work? Okay I've just been rubbish)! Where was I? Oh yeah, Bristol, 2012, with my trembling little foot set on a trapeze for the first time.  

It was a circus taster day at Circomedia, in their lovely re-purposed church on Portland Square. I signed up for it pretending to myself that there was the slightest chance I would be taken by acrobatics or juggling, that my head might be turned by the tightrope.  Stupid.  Literally the moment I made it up to a sitting position on the bar of the trapeze I knew that this was for me. My life had just been gently but fundamentally tweaked, the needle hopped a fraction to the left on the record.

Circomedia's church - pic borrowed from www.visitchurches.org.uk

Over the next few weeks I came back and worked at all the basic, wonderful, exhilarating, painful beginners moves. And I WASN'T terrible at it! Despite being crap at basically every sport I've ever tried, having no coordination, and the fact that my natural upper-body strength to lower-body fat ratio is not particularly suited to hanging around with my puny arms above my head.

I wore all my bruises and rope-burns and tired muscles with pride. I loved feeling the aches and pains, they were like a happy secret I carried around in my body through humdrum work days, a reminder that there was more to my life than sitting at a desk emailing. I spent hours trying and failing to do pull-ups at home. I watched just about every static trapeze video on YouTube. I did stretches every night. I listened to all the music on my ipod trying to figure out what tracks I might one day do a routine to. I repeatedly showed people my imperceptibly larger biceps (they were very polite about it). I did circus-focussed freewriting exercises. I dreamed and dreamed about trapeze.

So, you may be wondering where I'm going with all this. Am I a skilled amateur aerialist now? Performing in cabarets? Running a circus school?

No. Sadly I am doing none of those things. Because, I am ashamed to say, I did not stick at it. All that obsessive stuff I just listed above lasted about two months total, and then I let life came between me and trapeze.

Me, pretending to be some kind of farmhand, but mostly just letting life come between me and trapeze

For a million different reasons  - every one of them idiotic - that burning aerial love got squashed up, pushed back, packed down and put away.  I was too far away from the regular class venue at Circomedia; I was too broke; I was too tired and demoralised by my crappy job; I left Bristol on a wacked-out hippy mission to become an organic farmer, to travel around and live without money, to do a PhD (I didn't get funding), to be a housesitter, a waitress, to run away to Taiwan, and finally, to move to London and sort my god damn life out. Bla bla bla, all you need to know is, there's been EVERYTHING BUT THE CIRCUS.

But no more! Somewhere in the middle of all the craziness of the last 18 months, I was lent a sweet whacked-out hippy book on how to figure out your heart's desire, and I was feeling just about lost enough to follow all the steps.  Guess what my heart's desire was?

Yeah.

So now I'm actually settled in one place, with just about enough financial stability, the classes are booked people, the CLASSES ARE BOOKED! After being on the waiting list for months, I finally have a date with the National Centre for Circus Arts, me...some other people, I'm assuming a teacher and some aerial equipment. 7th Jan 2015, 12 week course. Hallelujah!!

Will it stick this time? It bloody better. (I'll keep you posted).