Flying Without Wings (or a Safety Harness)

Well, m’dears, this week I have been having capers and adventures of an aerial theme.

Yes, I wanted to see if I could fly.

Over the years I’ve been involved in the magnificent world of cabaret I have seen many splendid aerial acts on hoop, trapeze, silks and rope. I find them graceful and it all looks so effortless. So the urge overtook me to have a go.

The way I saw it, I had all the right qualifications for an aerial hoop. After all, no-one in the playground could ever ride a swing like me. How hard can it be?

As I write this, darlings, my hands are bleeding and I am sat on a family size pack of frozen peas.

My dreams of flight lead me to my ever-patient and totally lovely trainer, Amy, who I found through the wonderful Hula Boy (who else?) When I informed Amy I was an absolute beginner she didn’t seem phased. However, I think she assumed some sort of training in equivalent physical arts. Our first conversation went a little like this:

AMY: So do you have any dance training?

ME: Er, no.

AMY: Can you do the splits?

ME: Er, no.

AMY: Have you done any gymnastic training?

ME: Ah yes! I have a BAGA award one for mastering the forward roll (aged 4)

AMY: Okay . . .

(cue large crash mat subtly positioned under the hoop)

The thing about Amy is, thankfully, nothing phases her: even my perpetual swearing whilst upside down. Amy sees a positive in everything and seems to maintain a fixed and reassuring smile at all times. Even when I fell off she said it was an efficient way of getting down from the hoop.

We start with a warm up, which largely consisted of my lying on my back with my legs in the air. Since I already had plenty of experience in that department, I mused there could be hope for me yet. Next up came stomach crunches, with a side order of pain.

Finally, I was stretched and pumped enough to tackled the hoop itself. My first task was to get on it. In many ways, this the hard part. The hoop hangs high in the air, spinning constantly. I had to grip the hoop with both hands and do a backward roll, supporting my weight in my hands while my legs hung over the top of my head.

In theory, you then form a pike position, rather like those Speedo-clad Olympic divers before they take the plunge. Then you’re supposed to use the momentum of that dramatic roll to push your legs over the hoop and haul yourself up with your arm strength.

I got as far as hanging upside down off the hoop by my legs like a bat. It was pretty painful, but there wasn’t a lot I could about it, I was stuck there until my stomach muscles toned up or help arrived. OUCH!

Did I mention the PAIN? Allow me to reiterate. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Like really, really hurts.

Instructor Amy had warned me there would be a lot of pain from muscles, bruising and skin burns. But after a few years and many thousand layers of epidermis shedding, you apparently get used to it! JOY! Just one class in and I look like I’ve been whipped by a Portuguese man-o-war and now walk like a constipated gangster!

In the end, I was saved by my trusty butt crack. I knew it was there for a reason: to help me balance on a hoop with my legs spread-eagled? Thank the lord for life’s natural crevices.

Right now, every inch of my body knows its had the toughest workout of its life, while my tired brain wonders if SAS selection might be a softer alternative. But hey, Amy informed me I had had it easy, as we’re softies in the UK. Had I chosen to take my training in Russia, they get you flexible by physically breaking your ligaments!

I have a newfound respect for my aerial acts, and I vow to you, dear readers, that I will persevere and give you a flying Lady Alex routine before the year is out, even if it kills me. Wouldn’t that be quite a show!