Cue Don Ho. Ever since I was a kid, I loved hula. I loved the graceful moves of the beautiful, long-haired dancers and their hypnotic hip-swaying. My interest was rekindled in our two recent trips to Hawaii.
But I never had the chance to take lessons. Until now.
I had my first hula-dance class this morning at a local community college. I was one of about 20 women - many of them Asian-American - in the class. Many of them stomped around, flat-footed. Shake those hips, girls!
I bent my knees for more hip sway, a tip a hula-expert friend of mine gave me. But our kumu (teacher), admonished me, "Don't go up and down. That's an advanced move! Get the basics first." And she had me move back a row.
She leads a local hula-dance troupe that performs for corporate events and in the Rose Bowl Parade. The dancers wear leis made of pink and red roses (swoon). So one of my goals this coming year - besides qualifying for Boston - is to get into this dance troupe.
I know. I'm such a girl.
More miles, please: But enough of that. Now I've got to log at least several miles. Tomorrow is my long run. 15 miles, here I come.