I remember skillfully hula-hooping on various parts of my body in my youth. I could do two around my waist and one around each arm.
Of course there is a distinct possibility that my memory has blurred with the expansion of my waistline and the passage of time.
But I do know I could hula hoop and hula hoop well. That’s why I bought one a couple of years ago and abandoned it two days later when I couldn’t get the thing to twirl anywhere near my midsection.
When my boss strongly suggested I attend a hula-hoop class and write about my experience, I knew whatever dignity I have been clinging to would fall as quickly as that hoop. Please note, however, there are no photos of me with this column. I was able to keep a smidgen of my dignity intact.
Paying college tuition, you see, forces me to wear humiliation like a cloak so the checking account can stay in the black.
Wednesday, with a friend, I drove down South Broadway to Chair Avenue and followed some women carrying an array of hula hoops into Mecca Live Studio & Gallery.
Sonya Blaydes stood in the middle of a circle of women, whose memories suffered as did mine, and began to teach us how to hula.
She suggested beginners grab the heavier hoops, some of which she had made out of irrigation tubing and some that appeared store-bought and filled with water.
The heavier ones, she said, work better for the more mature and less flexible hoopers.
I would have taken offense had her words not been true.
But even though the hula hoop stayed up a second longer than the one I had at home, the maneuver could not be deemed a success by any measure.
If bending down and picking up the hoop was going to be the only exercise of the evening, I was prepared to call it quits.
Blaydes, who loves hula-hooping so much that she will hoop for two hours in the evening just to learn three new tricks, wasn’t ready to give up.
She went behind a curtain and brought out a hoop I truly think an elephant could walk through. She handed it to me.
College tuition, I said to myself. College tuition.
I stepped into the hoop, gave it a twirl and it stayed up!
I was beside myself.
For another two or three minutes, the hoop continued to whirl around, and I began to think I still had it.
Blaydes said the larger hoop brought the distance proportion between body and hoop to where it was when I was a skinny kid. As I became more skilled, she said, I could decrease the hoop size.
Hula-hooping truly was fun again. The other learners thought so, too.
Marilyn Rodgers, who works in substance abuse prevention during the day, was a showoff, however. It was her first time in the class, and she was already using a regular hoop.
“I love to dance, and I stay pretty active,” she said. “This is fun.”
Cindy Paulding, who is legally blind and was attending her second class, said Blaydes takes time to place Paulding’s hands and to give individual instruction that Paulding can emulate. Paulding’s eyesight doesn’t allow her to follow along in other fitness settings, she said.
“It is so nice to come and get group exercise in a group setting,” Paulding said.
Diane Fleet, a first-timer, agreed. Fleet, who works in domestic violence prevention, said she thinks it would be good for her clients. “It’s a way to hang out with people and have fun,” she said.
Sarah Dorroh Sweeney had hula hoops at her wedding reception recently.
“I don’t know how to do any tricks,” she said, keeping a regular size hoop going the entire time we talked.
Showoff.
Fortunately, there was one woman I could relate to.
Rona Roberts was on her third visit in four weeks and was eyeing my elephant hoop. She said she usually uses that one.
“I might be her remedial child,” Roberts said of Blaydes. “I was never successful with this as a child, but Sonya promises we can all learn.”
Roberts said she missed the second week of class but returned for the third. “I didn’t do anything in between,” she said, “but when I came back I could do it!”
Blaydes, a dental hygienist with Dr. Catherine Fowler by day, was involved in belly dancing for more than 13 years before branching out into an exercise called poi, a form of juggling in which a ball attached to a rope is held in each hand and twirled in circular motions around the body. Blaydes usually sets hers on fire.
I don’t care what my boss says. I won’t be learning
that.
If you go
Hula hoop class
When: 6 to 7 p.m. Wednesdays.
Where: Mecca Live Studio & Gallery, 451 Chair Ave., Suite B.
Cost: $10 per class; 5 classes for $45 or 10 for $75 with purchase of card good for three months.
Information: (859) 254-9790, www.meccadance.com.
I am a native Kentuckian, and I have worked at the Lexington Herald-Leader for nearly a quarter of a century. I've been a columnist for almost 20 of those years, dispensing my opinions about anything and everything. Born in Owensboro, Ky., I'm old enough to have lived through racial segregation, the Civil Rights Movement, protests against the Vietnam War, and the break-up of the Beatles. That means I am "old school," and my thoughts emanate from that perspective.