I used to drive stick. The coordination of clutch, gas and stick makes the driving experience more realistic. More like I'm trying to get somewhere and I'm not simply driving an over-sized golf cart at speeds we should really never be allowed to move around.
It had been almost 2 years since I'd felt this high. Not a towering stature but merely chemical running rampant within me - a product of a natural process resulting from group exercise. And though I've had girl friends run up to me and give me everything from quizzical looks to flat out comments in the "you know these classes are typically for girls right?" vein, I'm going. Pseudo-religiously.
And if I stare at the instructors almost obsessively I do it because there are multiple forces at play. One - I need the instruction, my coordination from driving didn't translate to elegantly planned quasi-dance moves that mix muay-thai moves with katas and a little bit of brazilian jujitsu. Who would have known. So what if my core isn't strong enough to maintain my balance as I try to bend my leg and have my but touch the soles of my feet in the most naturally unnatural way?
But I also watch for their tells as though we were playing poker.
You see, they have a custom of attending each others classes. What might be viewed as professional, friendly competition is in my mind nothing quite so cynical. They cheer each other on in the best woo-girl fashion. They smile as they suggest we grit our teeth. They ask each other if they feel the fire as undoubtedly their engorged quads steep in lactic acid.
Their tell is the underlying happiness behind whatever their facial muscles or tense body structure might tell.
And that's what I'm there to learn.
