I'm Going to Run Away and Join the Circus

My sister-in-law can read the desires of my soul almost as well as my husband and last year she got me some classes at Cirque School--a circus school in Hollywood run by former Cirque de Soleil performers. It took her gift, and my husband's perseverance, but after a year we went--all four of us.

We entered through a small alley in East Hollywood--less than a mile from the Kodak Theater where Iris is now playing--but a world away in terms of environment. The school is across from a hip little Latin cafe, wedged between Thai and Mexican restaurants that no white person ever really ventures into. It is a still undiscovered part of Hollywood. More ethnic, less glam, but full of beautiful old buildings rich in history.

We walked down the alley, past a magnificient mural of lions and fantastical creatures and there was the room. A whole gym, set up just for us. There were trapezes (low) mats, crash pads, gauze curtains and rings suspended from the ceiling. And there was a beautiful man with a perfect body and a great sense of humor ready to train us. He is a performer, when he is not teaching classes for ordinary, inflexible people like us.



We ran around and warmed up. We stretched--a lot. I am so tight from my desk job that after my first back bend I wondered if I would complete the class. He had us do somersaults and cartwheels. All of us! Then we did dive somersaults, then we dove through a ring and did a somersault. Then we dove through a ring of fire and did a somersault! Just kidding on the last one--but we were ready. We had signed papers saying we would not sue if we broke our necks or fell from trapezes, still, I was amazed at what he encouraged us to do.

Benji flew through the ring like a boy shot out of a canon, he did not even do a roll. Theo was fantastic. Jonathan and I were awkward, but delighted with ourselves. The Fernandez Family Circus!



We turned to the trapezes, where our teacher with the hot, sexy accent and the huge muscles flipped upside down and showed us some tricks--effortlessly. We got on our trapezes and hung upside down and looked at ourselves in the mirror. We hung sideways (Mermaid) and hung sideways with one leg hanging down (Angel Mermaid). We hung upside down in a straddle, no hands.



Some of it hurt. The rope dug into my ankles when I hung upside down on the trapeze. Our teacher nodded. "In Cirque we say the more beautiful, the more painful." I will never look at a Cirque show the same way. It all looks effortless when they do it, but even the simplest things require an immunity to pain. Even if you ARE flexible. And strong. And a contortionist.

We went to huge gauze hammocks and flipped around, hung, suspended ourselves upside down, and were guided through pretzel like routines, then dropped out free. We were amazed.

We tied gauze around our feet and hands and lowered ourselves and suspended ourselves in fabric from the ceiling--and in my case I let the boys flip on my arms. Wow. That was an excellent spinal stretch.

We all had weak spots. Places we knew we would break if we tried. Our teacher encouraged, but did not push. He seemed to have an innate sense of where our aging bodies might snap, or get stuck--forever.

We ended up on a hoop in the middle of the room, spinning like a top right side up or upside down, or sideways like Mermaids, playing to the invisible crowd that was crying out our names. Our teacher spun so fast, so beautifully, he was like a gyroscope, a perfect blur of beauty. Jonathan went slow and beautiful. Theo, too. I spun like the teacher, pushing my legs out to spin slow, then pulling them in and straightening my body like a pin to go fast. I spun so fast the world was a total blur. They told me I was not going that fast. It was thrilling, and also nauseating. I got off and stumbled. Our teacher told me to jump up and down to stop the spinning. I did, and it did. But I was slightly queasy for an hour.

Still, it was heaven. To flip. To defy gravity. To spin. To stretch. To swing on a trapeze and sail through a hoop. No matter what you look like -- and really, you do not want to see yourself--it is a thrill.

And to get to see a real Cirque performer do a private show for you to demonstrate the moves--that is not bad either. I just imagined my head on his body, spinning perfectly in the air.

If only I were born small, flexible and airborne. Maybe I really would have gone to Cirque School.