So I just got back from Ace’s. I worked out – SO THERE, DENIS! I did 20 minutes on the treadmill, 20 minutes on the elliptical trainer, and messed around with weights a bit. A nice workout considering I haven’t been to a gym in over a year and was never in good shape in the first place.
Actually, I take that back – at one point I was in good shape. In my peak raving days. 1992-1996. Man, I looked good back then. Nearly reed thin, completely fit, and able to dance for 12 hours without getting a cramp. Now I can’t jog five minutes without falling down in pain. It’s horrible really. Back in the halcyon days of my youth (okay, my mid-20s) I could go out three nights a week and once on the weekend and DANCE for hours on end. It was glorious. We’d get to Tracks (may it R.I.P.) at 9:00 p.m. (for the 90 minute open bar), and from about 9:20 p.m. to 2:45 a.m. my pals and I would dance.
And forget about it on the weekends. We’d pile into my car and drive to wherever the party was. I’ve driven as far south as Raleigh, NC and as far north as Providence, RI for a good rave. We’d arrive by midnight and dance until noon the next day – sometimes even longer. I can only remember one time getting “injured” while dancing. I was at an afterhours that had relocated to Tracks and about a dozen or so of my pals were all dancing around the area in front of the deejay booth, which was our usual spot at that club. I’m in the zone – dancing like I’ve never danced before – seriously I was doing moves I had only envied in other people. I did an unbelievable spin in the air and came down on my right leg and WHAMMO! the entire thing cramped up and collapsed under my weight. My friends all rushed over to me and had to carry me over to the benches because I couldn’t even stand on it. My calf was hard as a brick. We all spent about five minutes pounding it out, tears streaming down my face. It HURT. But, after about half an hour I felt that I could dance again. Stupid girl. About 2 minutes into it my leg cramped up again. I was done for the day. No more dancing.
Despite bad things like that happening (I can’t even BEGIN to tell you some of the stories since my mother visits Cootiehog occasionally), I had a great time in my raving days. I was the Mother Hen of my group – always keeping my little chicks safe when we were traveling. I took care of my friends and they in turn helped me have a fun little life for those years.
20 minutes may not be much on a treadmill, but I’ll be back to what I was before. It just might take me a while to get there.