For most people that’s nothing. But since I got sick, I haven’t been able to dance, which is my favorite thing in the world. Some days I can’t walk. I have some balance issues. Plus I’m 300 pounds now. I was terrified that the thing I loved most had been taken away forever. Every time there was the opportunity to dance or do yoga, I was too afraid.
Today, I woke up and it felt like a good day. I thought - I’ll just go for 15 minutes and see if I can get through that. The teacher remembered me from two years ago and I warned her that things had kind of changed and if I left early, not to worry.
Chickas, I danced for an hour. AN HOUR. I couldn’t go full out, but I danced every song. I never stopped. Now, I weigh about 100 pounds more than when I danced before and I could feel it and it felt awful, particularly the fat on my arms and legs moving in different time to the rest of me. I tried not to look in the mirror, particularly as I was behind some Martha Grahamesque dancer goddess.
But whatever. When class ended, I got in my car and lost it. I was so happy.
Now, I can’t tell IRL people, because they’ll either be all
a) see, you aren’t sick! or
b) That’s great, you should do it every day and then you’ll be thin and not out of shape and everything will be better! (I hate when people don’t let you just enjoy the fucking moment and feel the need to add in that little nagging/concern troll / faux motivation whatever that is.) I know I won’t be able to do an hour every day. Auto-immune diseases don’t go away like that.
So I’m just telling you all, my little GT peeps. It was a really, really good day. Just knowing that I haven’t lost the ability to dance completely? It meant everything.