As a young girl, I would sit on an oak rocking chair in front a xanthous vanity mirror my father constructed for my sister and me. The dainty climate fueled fantasies about what I would do when I grew up.
When I grew up, I was going to be a cheerleader. My mousy, boy cut hair would transform into a lush, perky ponytail with curly ribbons cascading everywhere. I’d wear a custom, pleated skirt. The pleats would hide excess yards of material to allow the very highest of high kicks. I’d brush away offensive lint from the pure, white sweater with the gigantic blue embroidered P on the front. My feet would be encapsulated by meticulously folded white socks peaking out from extra bouncy shoes. I and ten of my best friends would bring school spirit to hundreds of cheering fans. The smile on my face would be genuine and generous. I was confident that it was going to be so much fun.
Except somewhere between my elementary years and high school, were the worst years of my life. My confidence and drive to follow my path, my dreams went out the window like the gum wrapper I tried to throw out the school bus window. Five windows behind me, it blew back in onto someone else’s lap.
I conceded the cheerleader dream. I never even bothered to try out for the squad. Or, maybe, I was intimidated by the sleek (tight fitting/flaw emphasizing) modern cheer skirts. Either way, I treated cheerleading like it didn’t exist.
I wouldn’t have admitted it in high school but I envied our cheerleaders. When one girl had a near miss in a fall from a formation, I rallied with the others to the call, “Cheerleaders Are Athletes TOO!” Then I went back to wishing I was more confident, braver or more poised.
My guilty pleasure in recent years was watching every season of Making The Team, the show on the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. I was mesmerized by their poise, grace, and lack of body fat. Mostly, though, I was impressed by their strength and endurance.
I now find myself with an opportunity to be a cheerleader! I don’t have to be apprehensive about a lack grace or confidence because it’s only for about 45 minutes a day in the privacy of wherever I happen to be. Thanks to Charlotte at The Great Fitness Experience and her report on The NFL Cheerleader Workout, I’ve reverted to my childhood.
Cue the cartwheels.
This workout promises a much better outcome than tweendom could. Because, here, I have to develop a rock solid core to make everything else look easy. Tweendom told me a honeybun would make everything easy.
Don’t be fooled by your stereo-type about cheerleaders. This is an athlete’s workout. I have yet to complete all 24 exercises in one workout. However, the exercises are more fun than trying to build up to 100 pushups in a row. I like the variety and the sweat. I just won’t be wearing the make up.
photo from http://www.Vikings.com