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!
