Concrete and More Shoes

In looking at this title you might ask, and what do these two items have in common? On the surface, perhaps, they don't. But I have found these two things crucial in my quest for dancing injury free, one bad, one good. Let's take the bad first and get it over with.

Like many things in dancing, I'd really never given the floor on which I dance much thought. I noticed they were mostly wood, with the occasionally tile and sometimes concrete. I knew that wood was best. I'm not a total dweeb. I'd also heard the terms "floating" floor bandied about and even danced on one. I have to say I was a bit disappointed, I thought I'd actually see it hover or something. Not really. But I did think I'd be able to feel it move but I didn't.

All this time Gary and I had been doing our practice at home. We have a nice wood floor, albeit small. After I started to have some problems with my knees I realized they hurt most after dancing on certain flooring. Tile not so good, concrete...horrible. And surprisingly, our wood floor at home. I asked my dance teacher about various flooring. Wooden dance floors, she said, were either "floating" meaning they had a bunch of cushioning underneath, or had a criss cross wood system underneath. I thought about our floor at home. We live in a condo. Our nice wood floor sits, you guessed it, atop a huge slab o' concrete.

So. I have eliminated all dancing on concrete period. At home we still practice our steps, but we don't dance hard anymore. I also, on the advice of a medical friend, wear shoes or supportive sandals in the house. Think about it, she said, you are walking back and forth all day long (I work at home) with bare feet...on concrete.

The other part of this post is the fun part. Shoes. I have pretty much given up even my thick Cuban heels except when we go to a really fancy dance. It's a sport. So I need sports shoes. I found a cool place in Argentina...they do most of the shoes for Dancing With The Stars. They are not cheap. Mine were around $120, but for happy feet and knees that is so worth it. They are dance sneakers. Not as pretty as sky high heels, but very cute and sparkly. And oh so comfortable. They make them to order, and the support staff are very nice. Here is the web site:

www.argentinatangoshoes.com

In conclusion, I discover every day how much dancing really is a sport. You have to take care of your body if you want to dance a lot. And I do.

Dance isn't for the Faint of Heart

In the couple of years we've been at it I've learned dancing definitely is a sport. It's physically demanding, requires coordination, and teamwork - many of the same qualities you find in baseball, basketball, and football. Up until this past weekend, that's where the similarities ended as far as I was concerned. I mean you're not going to get your block knocked off on the dance floor, right? Right?

Wrong.

This is the story of how my dear wife beat me up and left me with a black eye. It's a cautionary tale for you fellows out there especially when I look back at the incident and think what could have happened if she'd really had it in for me. Take heed, my friends because this could be you.

Saturday night we went to our usual Brickyard Boogie dance at Starlight Ballroom. It was supposed to be an easy evening - we had plans to be at the Indiana Roof on Sunday night so we weren't going to do any heavy lifting. Just a few swing tunes and maybe a fox trot if the DJ felt inclined to play one.

The evening started well enough. The musical selection's a bit predictable but that's part of being a regular and I don't mind knowing that the first tune out of the gates always will be a swingable shag. We've been working on curing a curious habit of pulling to the right anyway so predictable actually was a help.

Through the first hour everything went swell. We were on - not burning the building down but on none the less. Going into the second hour the DJ pulled out a Brian Setzer tune and we got into a fast swing. It probably was a little too fast for triple swing but that's what we do and it was going well. I sent Kell into a double spin and got ready to close and I never saw the elbow coming.

It caught me right below the right eye; the ballroom went a little wonkey, and the next thing I know I'm hobbling off the floor unable to see for the tears in my eyes. Apparently I either short-armed our spin or started to close too early because I'd caught Kelly's elbow full force. All I can say is it hurt like hell and for the next two or three tunes I sat out trying to collect myself.

So, just remember this when you're on the dance floor. If you tick your lady friend off she might lay you low! I'm just glad she didn't hit me like she meant it!

Changed My Life

It's been a while since I sat down and penned (or should I say pixeled) a new blog entry so I thought that I'd take the opportunity to do so before we headed off for an evening of dancing. The past few weeks have been pretty dance-heavy for K and me. We've visited a local retirement home - no, not to consider residency and defiantly not to demonstrate how 'it' is done - and we've visited the Indiana Roof Ballroom twice. In fact we've started packing our dance card for the summer and that fact brought about a sort of realization. Dance has really changed the way we live our lives.

Okay, that's kind of a pat thing to say. It's a little cliché to say anything has changed your life because so many people say that about so many innocuous things. I mean Starbucks has changed my life. Work has changed my life. Not falling into a pool of molten magma has changed my life. Yet, at the risk of joining the hyperbole club, dancing really has- yes - changed our lives.

I've got evidence. For instance we spent an hour on Friday going over what's going on in the dance scene in the coming month and deciding what we do and don't want to add to our list. I don't even do that with anything else in my life. Planning for me is knowing I've got socks to wear in the morning - not necessarily matching socks but socks none the less. Yet I can tell you tonight we're dancing with Brickyard Boogies at Starlight Ballroom, tomorrow we're at the Indiana Roof with Dancemasters, and next Friday we're leaving for Tunica, Mississippi for a dance with the Memphis Bop Club. We'll also be attending a Rockabilly Festival this year.

That's changing your life!

Jim and Jacks, Down by the River...

Last weekend we took a little trip to Cincinnati. It's about a two hour drive from our house to Cincinnati, so the city makes a nice jaunt on a weekend when nothing else is planned or when there's some dance event that warrants our attention. This time around it was a visit to Jack and Jim's on the River, a little bar appropriately located, on the Ohio River.

The evening started inauspiciously. Being from Indianapolis, a city known for its absence of geographic features, I forget that some places actually have hills and rivers and other things that generally make navigation - well - a pain in the butt. We ran into this with Jack and Jim's. As I said before, it's located on the river and that means no straight streets. It's also under about six dozen railroad bridges, which means it looks a little more like a weigh station than a bar with a dance floor. But, after some swearing, insane driving, and putting the GPS feature of my cell phone to the ultimate test, we found the place and all was happy.

There's something about dancing at a bar that you don't get when you go to an actual ballroom. It's called liquor. Ah liquor, that wonderful social lubricant and synaptic anesthetic. A little bit of trivia for those of you who aren't so much into the whole bar scene: people will get drunk and when they do, they think they're even better dancers. Oh, by the way, they're wrong - oh so wrong.

I know I'm no good at things like the foxtrot. Apparently, though, if you poured a few shots of bourbon into me I'd become convinced not only that I'm qualified to foxtrot but I'm probably of the caliber that I could give the dolts on Dancing With The Stars a run for their money. I never saw so many people who were unable to keep their place on the dance floor while doing a slot dance. The swing, regardless of coast, is a stationary dance. You may turn around in a circle, you may move up and back, but you're staying generally in the same spot on the floor.

Not this crowd. Maybe the floor was sloped or maybe there was a wind blowing through the bar that I didn't detect. Whatever the case Kell and I kept moving out of the way until we finally gave up and decided we'd hold our ground regardless of who we had to step on. Hey, part of dancing is defending your turf I guess. At least it is when you're dancing in a bar.

Another thing revolves around my last post. Remember the dance floor map I posted? Take a look, I'll wait. You back? Good. So, you know that center part where you're supposed to do slot dances and line dances? Well, reading through the article and keeping in mind the whole subject of etiquette, what do you think you should do if the floor too small to really allow for social and line dancing? Hmm - well, I'd imagine that you'd refrain from lining up seventeen abreast and hogging the whole floor. It's a novel concept, I know, but one that's apparently far less understood than you might believe. The floor was small and crowded but people still lined up to do the stompy dance.

We wound up leaving around eleven thirty. It was a good time - but I think Kelly would agree we've had better. Is Jim and Jack's worth visiting? Well, if you're in Cincinnati and you don't have plans, yes. If you're looking for a destination to dance - I'd give it a pass.

Have a Piece

Midlife and Dancing

I wrote a post awhile back about sometimes feeling out of time, and how I looked young for my age. A royal bitch when you ARE young, and really nice when you are older. I'm older now so I'm in the nice phase. I've also enjoyed good health and still do. However, what I've discovered with dancing is that although my outside may look much younger than fifty, my joints, alas, are every bit 5-0. Sigh.

Here's what that means for dancing. First. Technique is not just about looking pretty. I have to admit I pooh poohed much of "turn your heel that way and swish your hip this way stuff"; I'd relegated most of that advice to the ballroom style, of which Gary and I are most certainly not. We are club dancers. Club dancers can do it any way they want, right? Wrong. For one thing, doing at least some of the correct techniques does make you look better. Second and most importantly, good technique protects your joints. For example, if you do the Cuban hip motion correctly the stress is mostly on your muscles, not your knees. Muscles can take it. Knees cannot. At least mine can't.

And here's another tip for all of you over fifty dancers. If you do decide to embark on a regimen of exercises designed to improve technique, don't do a hundred on each side the first day. Yup, did that. And I'm paying the price. I whined to my wonderful dance teacher Melissa, that I'd never be able to do it right. She smiled and said sure you will...with proper supervision. She's funny. But correct. So a wiser Kelly actually has signed up for individual lessons in addition to Gary and my paired lessons to Get it Right.

If I had to look on the bright side which I usually do, I would say perhaps this is a very good way for me to learn patience. Not a strong point for me. And, maybe something worth having is worth taking the time to do it right. I don't want to be sidelined. And I want to dance until I keel over.

Preferably not from sore knees.

Dance on.

The Flu Stinks

Big news, huh? Maybe it's a sign of my age or something but for the last two winters I've had sicknesses that impeded my ability to dance. 2008 was the worst. I had pneumonia after two back-to-back business trips to the Rockies. I just had time to get well before the third trip which let me hobble through some dancing in Salt Lake City. Now 2009 had rolled around and I'm stuck with a March flu. My head's filled with gunk and my balance is shot not to mention that I have the lung capacity of a ninety year old smoker. In sort, it stinks.