(Originally written May 1st, 2014)

It’s that moment where I’m on my back.

My butt is pressed up against the wall and my legs are splayed wide. Classical music echos through the empty spaces of the acro-dance studio, echoing off the wooden beams as the purple silks admire their reflection in the mirror.

I am alone as I pull down on my legs.

The stretch pushes into my hips and I embrace the sensation I once mistook for pain. It is not. It is tension resisting relaxation.

Each breath is breathed deeper into the stretch.

I could be at the park with my friends, setting my swords on fire and practicing my grounded stances. I am not. I’m at the studio stacking functions, writing and training at the same time.

I look at my feet and remember to point my toes.

The stretch is feeling more intense and I don’t want to hold it, but I do. I choose it. I choose to be more flexible. I choose to be stronger. I choose to be a force of power, a center of balance. I choose to train my mind, body, and spirit.

I choose to save the last cookie for Erin.

I will not eat the last cookie.

I ease my legs, roll over, put my knees out to the side with my shins parallel, and stretch my hip flexors. I could climb the silks later, but I wont. My arms are still sore from silks class two days ago and from playing Tarzan last night. It is important to give muscles a chance to rest. They need the time to rebuild into something stronger.

The classical piano builds up its tempo.

I can’t write while in bridge (yet).

So I put the pen down.

Holding bridge made me realize just how sore my arms are. To further explore the sensation I went on to work on my forearm stand and kick up to hand stand.

Next I’ll need socks.

Socks acquired.

I move over off the mat onto the wood and place my body in plank with my toes pointed. Keeping my legs straight and together, I drag my toes towards my hands, lifting my butt to try to get the weight up into hand stand. At the last second I snap my legs open.

It doesn’t work my abs like I thought.

It works them muscle near the front of the hip, the one strengthened by that other exercise that I haven’t perfected yet.

None of this is perfect.

This moment I have by myself is made of my imperfections.

It is built out of years of soft immobility, of jiggling under arms, and running out of breath walking up the stairs. It is built out of insecurities and fears. It is crafted out of delusions of grandeur, the heartache of insignificance, and the warmth of friendships when they support with spoken kindness.

All that and the desire for really good sex.

We’re not talking about meager lust satisfaction.

We’re talking about sweat building, ab forming, growling, rolling, breathing, meditative focus where the laughter builds and bows to the shared energies of two galaxies colliding.

We’re talking about kundalini rising.

Where equality is the self mirrored in the lover’s eyes.

For that kind of sex I practice kicking backwards above my head to give me an oh so powerful bubble butt of sexy doom. For that kind of sex I do crunches, pushups, and butterfly kicks.

For that kind of sex I choose to not eat the last cookie.

Because I’m also training the willpower to wait for when it is right.

It isn’t enough to have a whole lot of “more please!” up in this gorgeous business of becoming physically stronger. I want the heart to balance it. I will train the will to be able to listen to another but still hold space for myself, to communicate with an openness that comes from the absence of fear.

I create my world through my intentions.

I change my path through my actions.

I manifest my dreams by crafting the solitary moments, by stacking them in a stream of time so breath by breath I smooth myself into the woman who has always existed inside of me.

For I am a Jack of All Trades, and a Master of Fun.

There is so much work to do, and all the work is play.