Okinawa-rama

Last night I went to my first ever belly dancing class. It was on the third floor above the bento restaurant in Chatan. I went with my friend and workout partner, Kay, who had found the place on-line. Tired of working out in a gym, and in an attempt to forge bonds with actual Japanese people, we figured Japanese belly dancing class was the way to go.

We were late, of course, and the 1.5 hour long class was already well underway when we arrived. Ladies were on the floor stetching out, toe to toe. The place was packed! Fortunately, they were all very friendly and accomodating. Someone appeared with a couple of mats for us and we scooted into position on the floor joining the group for "hip opening" stretches.

I learned a couple of things in my belly dancing lesson.

1. While I may have been flexible in the fifth grade, or even the tenth. Now, I am not. I guess I should have hopped on the yoga bandwagon long ago.

2. There's nothing like gyrating your body in skintight pants with shirt tucked under bra, in a room of 20 similarly dressed Japanese women to make one feel...how shall I put this - overnourished.

I had never seem my belly fat move with such vitality. In fact, I was under the mistaken notion that my belly was somewhat lean, at least compared to the butt, thighs, and hips. These problem spots, I realized, had allowed me to conveniently overlook my belly jelly.

Had I been dancing in a room of American women, I might have been able to blissfully continue the self deception. Here, however, that was absolutely not possible. I quickly untucked my shirt and pulled it back over my stomache, and there it stayed for the remainder of the class.


Despite the whole jelly belly business, belly dancing was awesome! I totally dug it and plan to go again as often as possible. My respect for Shakira has grown a thousand fold. Wow! It's hard stuff.