When You Know, You Know
I can think of very few things more unbecoming than being strapped into a contraption that essentially amounts to a baby jumper for adults. And to think my biggest concern beforehand had been whether to wear grip socks or expose my toes indoors. In hindsight, I was worried about the wrong toes being exposed entirely.
Once I’d been buckled, cinched, hoisted, and otherwise irrevocably harnessed in, my companion looked at me with gleeful anticipation and said, “Oh my. This is going to be juicy. I’m glad you didn’t bring a GoPro.”
It may go without saying, but indoor bungee fitness will not be appearing on my shortlist of potential hobbies. I thought I was doing an admirable job keeping my inner monologue internal, but one particularly strong complaint escaped after an alarming amount of pressure settled squarely on my nethers. My face must have been a whole weather report, because my companion stared and said:
“I’m shocked at you! I’ve never seen you not embrace something fully. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you be negative like that.”
Sometimes I genuinely don’t know if anyone knows me at all, or if I simply have a talent for making displeasure look agreeable. No, it can’t be that — I’m certain I’m transparent as cellophane.
Anyway.
Another adventurous soul strapped in beside me began making a series of sounds usually reserved for childbirth. After one particularly heartfelt groan, she muttered, “Sorry about the grunting. It’s involuntary.”
Then “The Weight” came on over the speakers, and class officially began. Moments later, a stranger across the room flew toward the wall during the warm-up cartwheels, colliding with enough force to knock over a pole reserved, I presume, for the 6 p.m. pole-dancing class.
Somewhere between the music, the flailing, and the communal groaning, I decided to give up my discomfort and attempt a good attitude. Fun was indeed had by all. But when the class ended and the instructor called, “Come back soon!” I replied, with all sincerity, “Oh, that is highly unlikely. But thank you so much all the same. You were quite lovely.”
I walked out of the studio wondering if I’ve genuinely grown curmudgeonly, or if this is simply the maturity of having personal boundaries and the ability to quickly discern what is or isn’t worth my time. I think it’s the latter. I still love trying new things. But as with most matters of consequence: when you know, you know.