Things I Learned from Nevada Fitness Club, Part Six: Cize.

An interesting thing happened yesterday. I turned 40.

So, that's over. Moving on. Tonight I went back to the Fitness Club for what I thought was going to be a casual 21 Day Fix with weights.

First of all, screw the 21 Day Fix with weights because shoulders. And too much pep. And it interrupted a good nap.

So I'm suffering through that, feeling all 40-esque, but it was only a half an hour, right, so who even cares about a little sweat? And what else was I going to do? I had broken my corkscrew earlier, and the only bottle of twist-top wine I had was just okay. Side note, tonight I realized maybe I have a drinking problem.

But this isn't about my drinking problem. It's about what happened after the 21 day devil shoulder wtf fix.

And that something that happened was Cize.

Cize is Shaun T of Insanity and T-25's latest workout phenom. It's entirely dance-based, so the idea is kind of that you don't realize you're exercising. The inherent problem in the whole operation is that I basically can't walk without tripping.

When I've got a pleasant buzz to hard drunk on, though, I still can't walk without tripping, but I don't care. I also believe, in these booze-clouded times, that I not only have the right to dance, but that not dancing would be to deprive the world of a greatness heretofore unseen.

However, tonight, at the Community Center, I wasn't drunk. I wasn't even a little bit drunk. So when Brad fired up the 'Cize, my instinct was to trip-walk right out of that damn gym. However, I had a little time to kill, and I had just seen Trainwreck and wanted to learn a dance like Amy Schumer uses to land the guy, so I told myself I'd stay for five minutes.

The problem, again, was that I really had never danced sober.

We got started at a nice slow pace, slow enough that I got excited. I can totally do this, I thought. And this is where being a dreamer gets you. Before five minutes was up, I had imagined myself right into the Jennifer Lawrence part of Silver Linings Playbook. I WAS Jennifer Lawrence in Silver Linings Playbook. And by that I mean the dance part, not the part where Bradley Cooper can't get over his ex, because let's be honest here, I already lived that whole part of the movie. Over it.

I was ready for the glory. I was ready to stick the landing and live happily ever after with the guy who saw me dance and was blown. away.

And also he was hot, and totally into me, but not too much, because then it's clingy and just no.

The motions and tempo continued to increase, but I was keeping up, and there were even times where I felt like I stuck the move hard. And then my fantasies commenced again, but more in depth. I decided that I would probably go clubbin', because that's a thing that I literally never do, and that my range and skill would be so obvious that the room would form a circle around me in no time. A circle that would remain unbroken...until the crowd parted and a man drew next to me. I had never seen him before, but that didn't stop us from moving in a complicated choreography that was completely in sync, not to mention stupid acrobatic, and culminated in me leaping into his arms and flying while he spun me like pizza dough, at which point the crowd would go wild and he and I would then go get some donuts or whatever.

For the first time, I understood that weird chick in high school who always danced alone in the middle of the floor, or tried in vain to get a conga line going while everybody looked at her like, you so crazy, goth girl.

This is also a perfect example of why all my grade cards mentioned that I daydreamed too much. But let's be honest, daydreams are so much cooler than not daydreams, amirite? C'mon now.

Science.

The point is, my five minutes turned into the whole 28 minutes, and I never felt like I was working out, so win. It's not even close to Insanity Max, so I'm sure the calorie burn is stupid low in comparison, but what isn't? Plus, mix that routine UP, right? Something something metabolism.

Anyway, it ended, and then I went and ate stromboli, and this is why I'll never be ripped.

And in the End, the Love You Take...

Tonight, I got the last load of items from my house and double-locked the front door.

Just like that, it's over.

Sometimes, as you write the chapters of the book of your life, you don't understand that each one has to end. You might understand, in a logical way, that none of us get out of here alive.

But you don't truly process it until you have to.

It is still surreal to me, even as I complete yet another move, even as I grasp the reality that as my thirties are drawing to a close, that so too is the chapter of my life that I considered the most pivotal.

My dad frequently quoted a poem to me in my youth, called "Don't Quit." He gave me a framed copy of it some years ago, and I keep it at my bedside.

Not that I need to. The words, along with those of Rudyard Kipling's "If", are, at this stage of the game, seared into my brain.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill.
When the funds are low, and the debts are high
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh
When care is pressing you down a bit
Rest if you must
But don't you quit.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, but then again, what is? How often do things play out exactly as we envisioned?

When Bill died, I turned, in my grief, to a friend who helped me to sharpen my focus while simultaneously dulling my pain.
He asked me what I wanted in life, and told me to define it specifically and in writing.

There were two things on my list.

1. To live in a loft
2. To get a job as a professor, ideally teaching writing

I thought I had it figured out, essentially. What I didn't remember was that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans.

My goal was to be out of Nevada when my son was, in August 2015.

However, I realized that it was perhaps best not to make too many decisions, too fast. I had all but officially left Nevada, and my belongings HAD officially left Nevada, when I realized that it was not yet time. As soon as I understood that, I texted a friend who owned rentals and asked if anything was open.

As it happened, he had a loft that had just become available.

And it was amazing. This is my view right now as I type.

I had also applied to a couple of places in Joplin, Freeman Hospital and MSSU. I had two interviews, and got both jobs. The first was not what I had initially thought. The second culminated in a phone call telling me that the job had been mine, but the person I would have replaced had withdrawn his resignation.

It seemed as though I wasn't meant to go quite yet.

And then, a third interview...as a professor of English Composition. As a professor who would TEACH WRITING.

"Your M.A. is in Communication, but given your various experiences and recognition of your writing, I think you may be a wonderful fit to do some adjunct teaching in our department," the email read.

The interview was five minutes long, followed by 25 minutes of discussing my thesis research. She offered me the job before I left, as an adjunct professor of two separate sections of Comp 101.

That met...in the middle of the day.

That paid...significantly less than my current salary.

It's interesting, life. There were two things I asked for, and, basing this on a technicality, I received both.

However, my Nevada time is not over. Not only because I don't want to move again, but also because life is a process. I'll start my forties here, and who even knows what will happen, but here is what I do know.

1. The donut shop is within walking distance.
2. And White Grill
3. And Dairy Queen.

Livin'. The. Dream.

Plus...

Singing Under My Umbrella, Ella, Ella

Repeating the same stories over and over.

The way he said "Love you Jenny" and "Love you kiddo."

The way he dried off with his towel.

Popping my zits and saying "ew" and calling me a groder.

Just saw Tina Kruse with her kids, wonder if any of them are mine.

His perfect steaks

Kevin Hart

Vegas

Baltimore

"Fuck a bunch of dumb shit"

Holding my boob

Rodney Carrington

His notes

His pinky toe

Putting his feet on my lap

Telling me we were perfect for each other

Never, ever giving up on me, even when I gave up on him

Being patient when I got crazy

His perfect ass

His legs

Please come here. I love you and need you please.

 

Be Thankful.

A friend of mine halted my mourning briefly when he told me to shut up and be thankful for my life. 

He actually said it more forcefully, and I stopped crying and became furious. 

I believe what I said was, "I'll thank you for this later, but for now? SHUT UP."

Be THANKFUL? My best friend, my husband, my housemate, my former husband, all of those things rolled into one that Bill was, had just died. I had to pack up our life and move within a few weeks. Our plan was long since abandoned. Be THANKFUL?

Another friend coached me on finding the positive for every negative. That felt similarly hard.

Praying was mostly crying and asking "Why?"

And then yesterday, I moved. I watched as our bed was carried away, as our memories were divided, loaded, and driven away, packaged neatly like those shared years were just that simple. 

I gripped the Señor Frogs giant cylindrical neon cups from Vegas, straws still contained within, for a little too long. 

A lot too long.

I inhaled the scent of the house (and every home has its own) as deeply as I could, knowing I would still forget and crying at the thought. 

I cried off my Tattoo liner. My Kat von D TATTOO LINER. 

It's waterproof.

And then, curiously, I began to notice things.