Monday Night, 6:05pm The clock ticks forward, the minute hand inching from the 1 to the 2, soon after the 3.  Soon it will be at the 3.   People keep trickling in, maybe 30 total, marking their spot, land grabbing for a little piece of wood floor to own as theirs for the night.  It is not a Cross Fit class.  (Yes, it is 2015, I work out, and I do not do Cross Fit. I am one of exactly 17 people left in the country that do not do Cross Fit.)  It is not Yoga. (Yes, this is Los Angeles, and I do not regularly do yoga.  I barely do yoga.  I have done one yoga class in two years.)  It is a dance class – Hip Hop Fit to be exact. 

I have always loved to dance.  I wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer when I was growing up. You’ve heard this before because….well, because, it’s still true!  In my head, I am a dancer.  In some past life I have led or — if I’m lucky — some future life I am meant to live, I will be a dancer.  My body moved or will move exactly the way it does in mind, which is like JLo and Beyoncé and the female that can keep pace with Chris Brown.  So in addition to running, biking, and swimming, I added Hip Hop Fit to my workout routine.  Okay, let’s be honest.  It wasn’t added to biking – it replaced biking.  And to be honest, basically has replaced swimming too.  Not permanently, but temporarily.  As soon as my tan lines start to fade, I’ll add my lunch time swims back in the rotation.  But, I swear, I still run! And not just to dance class, I still run for the sake of running.

I’m in what will be the second row, staggered behind those in the front row who are just a couple feet from the mirror. I chat, but I look at myself in the mirror too. I like mirrors. That used to feel taboo for me to admit, but I do. Before/during/after a workout, for my entire life, I have taken time to catch glimpses of myself in the mirror. I sit with my arms around my knees, a posture that complements many things I love about my body.

What I see — the firmness of my legs, their outward curve from my hips and back into my knees, the line of muscles in my shoulders and collarbone, squaring up my frame.

6:12  I stand up and stretch and ensure I have the ability to see the mirror as we move.  Despite not being a dancer, my presence near the front of a mirrored dance room feels as a familiar as a dinner with my family.  My mom was one of the original queens of Jazzercise, and we tagged along and played in the back of the rooms she exercised in every chance we (she) got.  Jazzercise morphed to aerobics and step classes and she was always a staple, and if I wasn’t there to pass time or ride home with her, I was actually there to do the class with her.  And when I did, I always liked to see my body in the mirror.  Partly to ensure I had the right form, but mostly because I love seeing my body move, flex and work hard.  I love what I see and what it is doing.

I am not sure what gives me that body confidence — I am not a cover model, I am not tall, I do not weigh 125 pounds. I, literally, am not one specific body type, rather, a mix of them all except “skinny” which never disappointed me even when I thought it should.

What I see — my hands are stretching up and I’m elongated by a couple inches and I look at me straight on from the front, and I see a near perfect body.  It is strong and the curves of my thighs still gentle; it is smooth and mobile around my hips. My ribs define the area underneath my chest down to my waist, containing a big and capable heart and set of lungs. It is not 31-24-31. It is 39-32-39, and that dimension works beautifully.

6:15 Mike Peele, the instructor (see http://www.mikepeeleonline.com; see that the word “Fit” in Hip Hop Fit is not a misnomer; see Hip Hop is not a misnomer; see him and understand this class is all that you might expect and then some!) turns on the music and the thirty people behind and around him start following his lead.  I am in the second of 5 rows or 6 rows, because it is key for me to see the instructor, myself, and others that know what they are doing (ie, the first row!). If I am going to have a sliver of a chance of looking like I can follow the choreography, all three visuals are equally important.  If we were arranged based on talent and ability, there are moments I belong way further back! I’m eager to start.

What I see – as I stand and wait, I see the outline of the top of my arms, blending into my bicep. The muscle is substantive, even though the outline of it subtle. My right arm has a white mark inside the bicep – remnants of a removed tattoo, sometimes mistaken for a birth mark or scar from an accident. If you measure my arms at that point, they are 12 inches around. There is not excess nor lack of substance.

6:18 The first song — What’s My Name, by Rihanna.  I love this song.  Apologies to everyone around me who can hear me sing despite how loud the music is.  I can do many, many things, but singing is NOT one of them.  I sing all the time, but very few people actually hear me project my voice when I do.  My kids, myself, my old swim teammates.  All of these people confirm I cannot sing — I can’t carry a tune, I can’t find pitch or tone and I don’t even really truly understand what these things are.  And how do people make their voice adjust to it?  Fact — I cannot wink with my right eye and I cannot adjust what my voice is doing when it sings.  But at class, I sing every song very loud because I love each one and it gets me more into the dancing and because the volume of the music makes me forget that anyone might hear me.  We do some warm up moves to this song and I’m 1000% sure I am staying on beat, that I’m moving my hips and shoulders in the right direction at the right time and that I am as much as a dancer as a business executive, athlete, or mother. “I really wanna see if a boy like you can go downtown with a girl like me?”  It takes someone special, this I know.

What I see – the muscles in my hip flexors adjust to each movement as I roll my hips to each side. I see those muscles extend down to my quadriceps, with their outward curve accommodating that muscle. I’ve known that curve for 37 years, if not longer. I see a leg that another mom accidentally touched as we sat next to each other at swim lessons and made her exclaim, “Oh my, your legs are so solid.” It should not feel inappropriate to say that I think those legs – my legs — look as attractive as they are solid.

6:22 The music pauses.  We welcome any new students (there are always 1 or 2).  We go through the basic rules of the class.  We say hi to each other, fostering a sense of community.  I love and I hate this part, momentarily in and out of my element simultaneously.  Everyone is nice — across the board.  But I am always rushing in and out, and I don’t know anyone well, even the few other parents whose children attends school with the kids. Those pesky responsibilities and kids and that job I have sure do take up a lot of time! And though I am more open than I ever have been, still, I am wired to take a longer time to open up to people, particularly in big groups.  I am working on that, I’m evolving, and these “say hello” moments present me great opportunities.  But man, they slightly stress me out, as well.  I offer handshakes to people who go in for a hug.  I offer hugs to people that likely just want a handshake.  Once you hug someone, how do you backtrack for a handshake next time you see them?  It just remains awkward forever.  Nevertheless, I try to remember names and I am genuinely happy to meet people and say hello and be standing next to them. Mostly, I offer my smile.

What I see – warm, welcoming, friendly people around me. Visceral energy I’m grateful to be included in. Exposed brick, dusk skies through the skylight. Whirling industrial fans that won’t stop my sweat. When I glance in the mirror, my smile – broad, big, feisty even when not intended to be; hints of a smirk hidden in left corner of the smile.

6:25 We move on to Sorry by Justin Beiber.  I am not ashamed of my confidence and I am not ashamed to be a Belieber.  I love him. I have since I watched him play drums in Never Say Never (have you seen Never Say Never?? You should see it!). I love this song.  I SING.  We start learning the choreography.  Some steps forward, with pauses for a hip swirl (or shake if that’s all you can muster) and steps back with a bit more hips, then a turn.  Mike gives this look to the class suggesting it’s simple.  With this pace, this beat, and just eight steps, I feel like I can master it.  We repeat a few times, and I lose my thoughts and just move and it feels great.   “Is it too late now to say sorry? ‘Cause I’m missing more than just your body….” I wonder as I sing, when is it too late to say sorry?  Is it ever too late?  No.  I don’t think so.  If anyone ever had a reason to say sorry to me, I’d accept the apology instantaneously and 50 years later too.  If you’ve got the courage to say sorry, the courage will make my heart big enough to accept the apology. But that’s a passing thought, part of a flow of thoughts that diminish with each song. I am more focused on moving my hips in the right direction.

What I see – as I take my steps back, I get my shoulders to contrast movements with my steps. I see strength and subtleness when I move. When I swam, I never could see myself – and now, in the mirror, I see the result of the years of pulling through water. I was an uneven swimmer, my left side stronger than my right, my left shoulder still a little more pronounced than the right. I don’t mind it…who is perfectly even? I see my shoulders, and their breadth and their framing of my body. I see the lightest scar on my left shoulder, acquired decades ago as I joked with a friend who could have been more, a scar that makes me nostalgic for moments of intimacy whether friendly or romantic, whether lived a lifetime ago or just earlier in the day. I see me as a little girl dancing to “Stand Back” by Stevie Nicks in front of the mirror constantly, perfecting Stevie’s twirl where her head leads and then her body whips around fast to catch up. I watched my head curve to the right, saw myself out of my peripheral vision as my left side caught up, saw my shoulders pull my body around, my stomach angled in the midst, my legs figuring out how to gracefully end the twirl. I remember the watching of my body felt like I was getting to know a friend; I remember liking the curve on my legs and the straight line my shoulders created. It is those curves and straight lines that I still see today, that I like even more today.

6:28 Don’t Be Cruel.  Suddenly, I’m transported back to Chula Vista long course public swim pool singing Bobby Brown and Bel Biv Da Voe behind the starting blocks of a swim meet with Alison Terry.  I mean, what better way to prepare for a race?  First, I would lay and visualize tiny balls of strength, endurance, patience, confidence filling up my body, from my toes to my head. I’d see an outline of me, of my body, lines and curves condensed into one, filled with all that I needed, and then I’d see me swimming fast. Form there, I’d go behind the blocks and on occasion be dancing with my friends right before the race. I have a vivid memory of dancing to Don’t Be Cruel, one of my favorites, before a 200 IM.  Don’t think I am not singing this one out loud, too.  We add 8-10 more steps to the original 8.  More 1/2 steps, 1/4 steps, pauses, jumps, turns.  A common theme – the strong use of our hips.  I stumble on a few steps, but I generally get it.  The beat is slow enough that I can master it still (“master” in the broadest sense of the word.  Meaning — just.  keep.  on. beat.)  This is the song I use at home if the kids want to see what I learned.  Many times Mike steps up and his hips go left, and if that happens you can bet that my instinct is to have my hips go right.  His feet and hips move in opposite juxtapositions as my body is inclined.  When I first started, this bothered me, but I got used to following his choreography but making the moves look like me.  Trust me, this isn’t a cop out.  It’s wisdom!  I catch glimpses of myself as we go through and I pretend that Bobby hired me personally in 1988 to back him up on the dance floor in this video.  “As long as I’ve been giving my love to you, You should be giving me your love too, But you just keep on actin’ just like a fool.  You know it ain’t cool.  It just ain’t cool.”

What I see – sweat. I’m sweating more than anyone except the instructor.  How do people do any workouts and not SWEAT??? I like seeing myself sweat. I spent 17 summers in New York City reframing how I thought of the summer humidity and the sweat that humidity caused, and landed on the perspective that sweat is sexy. I think the glisten of sweat on my forehead, my arms, my legs, is sexy. (Side note –how much do you have to sweat before it is not considered a glisten anymore?) I see my body being capable, efficient, regulating itself as it works hard, retaining only what it needs.

6:32 Truffle Butter.  Well, I love this song, too, and I should be slightly ashamed to admit that the words I know best are the naughtiest ones.  The one Saturday I brought my kids to sit in the lobby while I did this class, this song was in the playlist.  As I sang the Lil’ Wayne part, “Uh, thinking out loud, I could be broke and keep a million dollar smile, LOL to the bank checkin’ my account, bank teller flirtin’ after checkin’ my account.….” The part after the ellipsis being the part that can’t be written here! I remind myself, don’t bring the kids to listen to this playlist.  They won’t know the meaning of the words, but they will remember them and repeat them and own them.  The beat still a good pace to allow me to keep up, to get through the 24-30 beats of choreography, and to make me feel incredibly sexy.  How can you dance to Rihanna, Justin Beiber, Bobby Brown and Nikki Minaj, with sprinkled naughty words and innuendos throughout, and not feel sexy.  Even if you aren’t sexy, you feel it.  And what’s the difference between feeling it and being it?  To be honest, I think none. No difference. The feeling of it is the underlying threshold need for being it.  For the choreography he layered onto this song, there is a move where we jump to criss cross our feet over each other than jump again to spread them far apart, all in a 1/2 beat, then bend down a bit and grind our hips to three more counts.  4 counts total.  I HAVE NO FAST TWITCH MUSCLE.  I cannot, in 1/2 a beat, move my feet to two different locations, let alone two that involve first being criss-crossed then spread far apart.  I can’t even have them together and apart in that half count.  Maybe if we were on a beat as slow as Snoop’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot” — I might be able to do it.  Then it would be in slow motion, and I could fit these two jumps into that first count.  Instead, I basically take the two jumps and turn into just one move to get my feet into the right position to grind and swirl my hips in a way that comes more naturally, even though it looks nothing like the move the instructor is making. The reality is, if there are 35 people in class, there are 35 styles of this easy grind but they all look perfect.

What I see – as I drop into the bend, the partial squat, I see my legs flex with a long muscle in both the quad and the calf. I see tanned legs working and strong enough, even if slow, to bend down further and jump up higher. I see a line that defines the muscle, separates it from the fat and meat and bone that composes my entire leg into itself, each component as critical as the other. I like each part equally, all composing the entire visual. At the top of my thighs, I have a freckle that marks a consistent measuring point. My thighs measure 23 inches around, each, at that point. They are firm and without cellulite and smooth and dense. I have seen them standing, running, in motion, sitting (the flesh pushed out wide), flexing (the muscle overexposed), wrapped around other bodies, by themselves. I like what I see.

6:36 Temperature, by Sean Paul.  You know, I used to think this song was just a normal paced song.  I might have even recalled it being a little slow, with a Sean Paul reggae flair that slows the beat down.  Well, this is not the case.  It is not slow.  We have our 30-35 counts of choreography, remember some counts have 2 moves (some might even have 4 but you can trust that I am modifying those and don’t even realize it).  I keep singing the few words I know to this song and make up the rest! “Well woman the way this time cold I wanna be keeping you warm…I got the right temperature to shelter you from the storm…Oh lord, girl I got the right tactics to turn you on, I wanna be the papa and you can be the mom.   Uh oh!.”  (Who the hell knows any other words to this song? I am 1000% certain we all sing it, and no one knows them. And no more kids, for me, please, no I won’t be the mom!)  Okay, now I’ve lost my ability to settle in and dance, at least a little, and I am just trying to move in the right direction at the right speed so not to trip anyone else up.  Where are my fast twitch muscles?  How do people move their legs and feet THIS FAST, and also have the ability to move their hips AND ALSO, even, their shoulder and chest and arms and sometimes in opposite directions from the direction their hips are moving?  How is that?  My arms, I try to use them. I try to exaggerate my shoulders and mimic what Mike and the dancers who Know What They Are Doing do, but my upper body is becoming a non-factor (aka — not moving) as the songs count speeds up. When did I actually think I could dance?  Just 25 minutes ago?  Did I really fool myself into thinking that? I only glance quickly in the mirror at my shoes during this song, I forget to look in the mirror otherwise. My feet are trying to move as fast as they can.

What I see – my ankles, their effort, their nimbleness, the tendons that connect my feet in mis-matched socks to my calves, calves that round outward and inward, muscle on both sides. These calves are covered with sweat, supporting the rest of me – both a foundation of support and a result of what all the rest of me is doing. I have seen them flex, play, ache. My ankles are sparse, not much to them, but accented as they mark the most narrow point underneath my calves. I like what I see.

6:40 Water break.  Thank god.  I’m sweating.  I need water. Can’t we break now for our “fit” part of class now?  No, we can’t apparently. More dancing to be done.

6:41 I have no idea what this song is, but it sounds like Busta Rhymes.  WHAT THE F……I cannot move this fast.  I don’t think I can. Okay, maybe I can.  If I don’t worry about doing it just right. If I don’t let perfect get in the way of good enough.  If I don’t worry about doing much with my arms other than what comes natural.  If I don’t worry about tripping up the people around me, who are likely trying not to worry about tripping up the people around them.  If I just dance, I’ve got it.  I even found a way to look like me while my hips go in a direction opposite of Mike’s as we grind down into three hip circles, and I even find a way to get my feet gracefully through what might be 2 jumps in that first of 4 counts that gets us to the position for those circles.  I set the self-deprecating humor aside, and I am enjoying every second of this and I feel like I got it and I like the way I feel when I’m moving.  I’m moving like me. As I turn from the left to the right with my left arm raised up and my hips swaying to the left, I see my stomach, working to keep everything together, coordinated. And I think of how I feel when I am getting dressed, in my bikini, or in less. And I connect this dance to that feeling of confidence.

What I see – my stomach and my obliques, straining with beautiful effort and rhythm. My rib cage is broad and wide, providing protection for a good set of lungs and a big heart. It creates and is the center of my large boned, but proportioned, frame. I see my rib cage narrowing down from my chest to my waist, accommodating my deep breaths. My chest measures 39 inches, my waist 32 inches. Who would be able to guess these measurements, I don’t know. I like the slight narrowing, the slight accent on muscles you don’t see when I am not moving, the subtle in and out of the flesh, a movement I can visualize underneath my tank top as I breath.

6:45 – THE FIT PART begins.  Hotline Bling, Drake. Slow enough to make every move more deliberate. Slowing down for this – for the squats, planks, pushups, ab work, lunges – harder, not easier.  And as much as I like to dance and like to see myself dance, I love to see my body do these things. The muscles flex more, my form strong, my back confident. I sweat more. There is no amount of squats I can’t do. (Okay, maybe there is some amount I can’t do). My glutes stronger with each one, and I see the side muscle in my glutes flex through as I push up through my heals. That is one of my favorite muscles on anyone. It shouldn’t be so bad to say that about myself as well as someone else. My shoulders and biceps and triceps and quads and hips and calves and stomach and obliques and neck and back, all working, all moving, all coordinating. All strong, all very very sweaty. I adore seeing my body take each move and Accomplish it. Over and over. I like the control and the strength. I own this enjoyment. I wish I could bottle up this enjoyment and pride and sell it to everyone. We should all feel this pride, this love, this affection for the bodies that house us.

What I see – all of me, moving in unison. Hills and slopes, curves and valleys, muscle and softness, sweat. Toughness, tenderness. Smoothness and lines. Tiny gaps between my certain parts of body while other parts of me touch. Freckles scattered like stars across my thighs, lighter and denser on my arms. There is no doubt that I like what it is all capable of, I have always been proud to say that. But I just like the visual by itself, as well, and that seems to be an affection that is harder to find.

200 squats later, 300 situps later, 100 pushups later, 5 or 50 minutes of plank later….We stand up. My legs are a little shaky, a slight quiver. I won’t dare say what that quiver reminds me of, and I love it.

7:05 We dance again. This time to Missy Elliott’s new song, WTF (Where They From). Has there ever been a Missy Elliott song that the whole world didn’t want to dance to? I know the beat, though barely know the words, but I still sing the few I do know. “Boys to the yard for some hip spankin’, Where you make it drop down, it like you animated.” Dancing animates us. It animates the best parts of us. It animates our souls, the feelings we have inside us. It helps clear out the noise from the day and bring to life a feeling that gets buried deep down in our bodies. That can feel powerful, but it can feel simple and light as well. She keeps dancing, and somehow I find that I am not even thinking. I am doing every move, in the right order, on the right beat, but I am finally not even thinking about it. I am not thinking. I am not thinking about one thing. Every worry of the day has fallen away, every critique of my choreography evaporated. I am just dancing, just moving, just having fun.

What I see – my eyes, wider than when I started. Green, outlined with eyeliner and mascara that has smudged a matted dark circle around them. They look pure, framed out by my dark eyebrows, on top of my long cheeks. My face splattered with the lightest freckles that make it hard to tell if the color is caused by freckles or just touches of sun. There is sweat across my forehead, my blond hair wet with more sweat, pulled back off my face, giving me more room for more expression. I see eyes that communicate. I see eye words I’ve exchanged through a glance, I have quick passing thoughts of the faces I’ve spoken to with my eyes. Even if you can’t see my mouth, my eyes are smiling, they are sparkling a little bit. The sparkle and light coming from something deep in my core, from the music, from the enjoyment of my body.

7:10 One more song. The fastest one yet. I am not sure what the song is, but I’ve heard it ten thousand times. Every time I’ve gone dancing. Some song from the dance floors I frequented in 1992 in Tijuana, Mexico. The dance floors in Washington DC in 1994. The dance floors in New York City from 1997-2002. The dance parties in my condo in Brooklyn. The dance floor in Hermosa Beach in 2013. I’ve heard this song at all of them. It’s the song they play when everyone is there on the dance floor, forgetting everything else around them, dancing together and alone and together again. Hands in the air, smiling, flirting, laughing, spinning. It’s the song that legitimizes the party, that makes you decide you are not calling it a night. That the night will go on. We go through the choreography 4 times. What didn’t feel hard now highlights the fatigue we all feel in our quads, our arms, our backs. But it feels easier too, because we aren’t working out, we are just dancing. Enjoying every last minute of the hour that gives us time just to enjoy the music, the movement, our bodies. The hour that gives us a chance to be out of our heads, and in our element.

What I see – me. I see me. I see a 5’6 inch blond. Strong legs, wide shoulders, curves and lines, firm and soft, tan, freckles and scars. I see a big smile and green eyes, hints of a sexy smirk. I see the girl who wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer, the woman who is an athlete, a mom, an executive, a friend, a lover, playful and serious, funny and kind. I see muscle, I see sexy. I see beautiful.  I see strength and warmth and thoughtfulness. I see tough.  I see movement. I see music and energy. I see Me.