So You Think You Can't Dance

Alright my furry friends, let’s get straight to the point. Weird Wednesdays, round 3.

I’m tall. Barefoot, I’m 5’11. On days that I wear heels into the office, I tower over almost every single one of my coworkers.

It’s a useful trait to have in many ways. As a volleyball player in college, I was known to block a few peeps on occasion.

I'm in the white on the right - Numero Cuatro

Current day, on the running trail, I’m pretty conscious of the fact that I don’t have your typical 'runner’s body.' It’s been said that those who are ‘closer to the ground’ usually tend to do better with distance. Well… I don’t consider myself too close to the ground, unless I trip & eat shit (which happens on occasion) and am then lying on the ground itself. Almost once per race another woman runner will comment to me out on the course about my long legs… in which I usually respond with something along the lines of "Yea, well it sure is a bitch to find jeans."

Hey you, in the purple - your legs are longgg

 However, one large disadvantage to being tall that has really been gotten to me lately? I suck at dancing.

Dancing is not my thing. My tall, somewhat gangly body can find the beat about as easily as one can find a beach down in Antarctica. And it makes me so sad. Because although I’m no Dancing with the Stars constestant, I still love doing it.

Don’t get me wrong, I did my fair share of dancing in college/post-grad, with the security of my girlfriends surrounding me, and the confidence of a few beverages. And I always had a blast.

The dancing blind mouse...

Soccer players for halloween. Classic.

It’s startling, and dare I say weird, how recently I have developed a borderline fear of it. Just this past weekend in Ocean City, “Call Me Maybe” came on at the beach bar classy establishment that we were at… and I’m fairly confident that a small piece of my soul died as I watched everyone rage to it on the dance floor. Just a small piece.

Andrew is actually a good dancer, and loves it more than I do, so it probably devastates him more than myself that I can’t/won’t/refuse to hit the dance floor him. A few weeks ago he even generously offered to practice with me in the safety of his living room…

An event that quickly ended with me sitting on the couch, having a mild panic attack and on the verge of tears.

Yes, that really is me.

Above is an example of what happens when I have a panic attack.

I need to get over this fear, quickly. Step 1 of my plan? Go to a Zumba Class next week with a coworker. Just shoot me now.

Any others out there with a dancing phobia?

Hope your Wednesday is super weird. Cheers!