I made my very first hoop yesterday and headed, shyly, to the park to test it out.
I had hoped the park would be empty.
But no such luck.
As I stood building up my nerve, a stranger inquired about dog tricks. I answered politely, found some space and gave the hoop a timid spin.
My embarrassment subsided and I soon had the park to myself.
Then I spotted a woman and a gaggle of children. All clearly watching me from down the street.
I turned away, embarrassed, and continued spinning-and-dropping with my back to the eyes.
When I turned back, minutes later, the woman was spinning-and-dropping a hoop of her own. In her driveway. With the gaggle of children.
How cool is that?
p.s. Turns out my home-made hoop is slightly small, slightly light and slightly pointed. But absolutely dandy, for the whopping $5 it cost me.
More hooping here.
Hooping, it turns out, is perfect post-breast-cancer-treatment therapy. Almost.
It challenges my co-ordination, balance and spatial awareness.
It entirely occupies my mind.
Its frantic, erratic arm movements sneak my damaged limb into places I thought I’d left behind.
It allows me to flail and fail without drawing the attention of the likewise intensely occupied others.
And gives me ample opportunity to tame my uber frustration reflex.
It’s brand new, so there’s no kicking myself for lost progress.
It’s great exercise.
And it’s my first class with Lucy in 10 years.
But last night I discovered the Almost.
Chemo’d chicks don’t spin.
Or at least they shouldn’t.
It’s easy to forget how disgusting chemo was.
Last night’s hoop-induced nausea was a vivid reminder.
Of how lucky I am to be healthy.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Hoop…. instead of Poop.
Today was a rough day.
Huge thanks to hooping (and Sophie) for the hour-long escape from care.
And to Lucy for joining me.
Good Friends and, as it turns out,
When those lumps came to light on Friday, I spun into a vortex of terror.
I wandered like a distracted zombie for the better part of four days.
Sharing my worries here and in real-life has lightened my load but the real sand-blasting of my buzzing brain was thanks to an introductory hooping class.
My spatial ineptitude and lack of co-ordination meant my entire mind was focused on a festooned hoop.
No stabbing cancer scenarios for one solid hour.
And I’ve felt fairly human since.
A drained, dull and distracted human. But a human.
Thank you to Andree for your friendship and for the class.
And thanks to the many friends whose kind words and deeds are helping us through this scary limbo.
Hoping to be shouting happy, happy news on Tuesday.