It Hurts to Move

I had my first Capoeira class yesterday. 7:30PM-10PM. The instructor took class over an hour the designated time. I loved every minute of it. Walked back home soaking in sweat, legs shaking in exhaustion. It hurts to walk, bend over, or even shrug my shoulders. I want to tell you about it. About walking in the door and being greeted by a large black man, whose arms were thicker than my thighs, asking, “You here for Capoeira?” in his heavy Portuguese accent.

I want to talk about how the hours flew by, how I never sat down for a moment to take a break, and how quickly my body, which has been slightly sleep-deprived and fighting off a cold, came completely to life to cartwheel across the room and throw kicks. I want to tell you how natural it all felt, how high I get off martial arts, and how when the other students started asking if I had taken Capoeira before, I could only uneasily reply, “Kinda.”

In short, it was good. My body screams at me everytime I rise out of my chair and I still smile at remembering the beat of the music. And memories flood back of my old studio with the sound of a berimbau playing behind the scenes, of feeling the burn of my legs learning dodges and their exits. Currently writing a more lengthy narrative of this. I figured I would at least blog this now as every waking moment of today, my muscles remind me of last night.