Love at First Flight

A few days later and my muscles are still a little sore. The broken blood vessel on my hand is still visible. And I am still in love. I want more.

I want more cowbell. That’s what they ring when you’ve done the routine from beginning to end without any mistakes. Granted, this was my first trapeze class, so the routine was far from anything you’d see under the big top of Ringling Brothers Circus, but it did involve some level of good timing, agility, and fearlessness… or drunkenness.

The goal by the end of the two hour class is to get all the newbies (approximately 10 per class) to the point where they are ready for a catch; the moment when you reach out and there is actually someone meeting you there, grabbing your extended arms as the rest of your body swings off the bar and swoops into open air like a pendulum.

Most, but not all of the wannabe “acrobats” in our group got to this point and attempted a catch. But I don’t think that is really everybody’s intention.  I would have to imagine that some just come to conquer their own fears. It doesn’t look so bad from the ground, but when you climb up that tiny tall ladder and stand on a skinny plank thirty feet up in the air, it’s a slightly different story.

There was a mother and daughter in our group that were an inspiration, because they both went for the very reason above: to prove to themselves that they have the guts, but to hold each other’s hand every step of the way. They were adorable, comical, and inspirational. Neither one of them was what the average person would consider fit… very curvy in all areas, to put it delicately, and sweating from nerves before anybody even got in the air. The mom wore glasses, and could not stop smiling. The daughter, in her twenties, had striped socks on that said “Hot Chick” in bright red lettering. I loved them. Everybody did, and we were all rooting for the duo.

The daughter went first… climbed to the top and screamed immediately. She did not stop screaming until she was back down on the ground. It was actually more like part screaming, part crying, and part laughing as she jumped off the platform, dangling from the bar and kicking her feet. The instructors tried to talk over her, telling her “it’s okay”. She squawked when they told her to tuck her knees to her chest and hang them over the bar… at which point she let go and dropped gently into the net with the help of the instructors tight grip on her harness. She was shaking and sobbing when she got down, went to the bathroom for a bit, came back… and went up the ladder two more times,

Her mother was hilarious. She laughed when they made her take off her glasses, as if she knew it was already going to be hard enough. “Now I’m blind too!” she said.

Maybe it was the fact that she couldn’t see very well that actually saved her from being as fearful as her daughter. She just laughed the whole time, and upon attempting to do the knee hang, she got her feet and legs tangled up in the harness ropes, letting out “lord ha’ mercy!” … “Oh sweet Jesus!” and “oh my!” She too went back for more.

For those of us who made it to the catch routine, that was an amazing feeling. We didn’t meet the “catcher” until right before the final routine. He walked in with his veiny bulging arms and wrists all taped up, black tights, ripped up abs, long flowing hair… I don’t remember his name, but “Johan the Great” would seem fitting. And here’s what he said to us:

“You are all able to do this. Just do what you’ve been doing the last two hours. The only thing different is that I will be there to grab your arms. That’s my job. Your only job is to trust me.”

Melt…melt…melt. There’s something about a big, brawny man saying “trust me”. In this situation, you have to. There’s no choice.

A leap of faith upon his call from the other side. “Ready… hup!” he yells. The cue to jump. On each up-swing, you prepare: first swing, knees over; second swing, hands off and upside down; third swing arch your back with your arms out and hands pointing out. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, someone else appears in front of you and has clasped your wrists and off you go with them, holding their wrists too. Wow. The trust thing actually worked.

It’s like an out of body experience. I loved it. By the end of the class, I completely forgot about the fact that when I signed up, I had to give them all of my insurance information and phone numbers for my next of kin. Two pages of release forms. I shit you not.

It’s an experience I would highly recommend to anyone… men, women, drag queens, whomever. I  found it not only to be a fabulous form of exercise, but also felt very liberated, exhilarated, and empowered. The one thing that everyone will get out of it though, is to trust. And that is one of the best feelings of all.