Dance Hour

When I promised a whole HOUR of dancing a day, I thought to myself, "Backspace! Backspace! Backspace!!! That's crazy talk!" I was right. Dancing for a whole hour on a daily basis is crazy. But crazy is not synonymous with bad.

My first official "Dance Hour" (as I am henceforth referring to it as) was crazy. I turned on the TV, found the wonderful music channels (which I discovered when my family was running around in Italy or Germany or Spain or whatever cool place I couldn't go), turned up the volume, and set to work moving all the furniture out of my way. Couches, chairs, beanbags, tables, little brother's junk, etc. At last, I had a big open area to dance in. I grabbed my phone, started the stopwatch, and danced.

Within fifteen minutes, I was ready to be done. I was tired, out of breath, sweaty, and embarrassed by my own dancing. But I had promised an hour. So I kept dancing, looking like a very exhausted, stinky, untalented fool.

I don't know when it happened, but I stopped caring about the time. I was having way too much fun dancing and listening to all the music, and I was starting to like how sweaty I was getting. The hour was up, but I didn't bother to check my phone to see. I danced for more than just an hour, and when I finally had to move all the furniture back, I wished I could just keep dancing. It was crazy fun.

I woke up sore today. And not the ache-y back, cramped neck, body full of some serious tension sore. It was the worked hard, had some fun, body rejoicing sore. With some old aches and cramps mixed in, but not as prevalent. Less tension and restless sleep, more relaxation and comfortable sleep.

I love dancing.

P.S. I have some video clips, but my brother has the cord somewhere, and I've no idea where. If/when I find it, I'll put up some embarrassing video.