Dance like no one is watching

Greg and I have been participating in a family Biggest Loser/Get Fit/Stop Your Whining and Do Something About It contest. Three weeks in we are feeling good, eating better, and working out a lot. Which brings me to my point. You know. Because I try to make one.

I was getting ready for bed the other night and Greg said, with true amazement, "Your abs look great!" This is flattering for many reason. One, my husband thinks I look good. Enough said. Second, I have had three kids over the course of the last 4 1/2 years and my stomach has taken a beating. Weight lost? Yes. Abdominal muscles taunt with no flabby skin over the top and not a trace of a stretch mark or a really weird looking belly button? Uh, no. Thirdly, I have been beating my abs to a bloody pulp the last few weeks and DESERVED a compliment on them.

But it continued. "What have you been doing for them?" he asked.

"Well, I've been using the yoga ball at the gym, crunches, and my ballet video."

It's true. I have a workout video, two part series, called "The New York City Ballet" and I love it. In a former, juvenile life, I took six years of ballet lessons. The video brings me back, makes me think that I have grace and a swan like neck, and kicks the tar out of my abs, thighs, and rear. (Which, by the way, may or may not be a good thing. I think the flab is going down but there seems to be even more junk in my trunk. I do not think I need a ghetto booty. But I digress.)

"Really? Your ballet video, huh?"

"Yeah, it's really good. You should do it with me sometime."

Do you know where I'm going with this?

The man, my man, Greg Jones, Mr. Basketball, has done my ballet video with me not once, but twice now. Start to finish. Every plie, every front attitude, every stretch, and every miserable ab exercise on there. By the end he is sweating, begging for water, and acknowledging my studliness.

He says he is sore and more sore the day after we do the videos. For him, a lot of it is about the intense stretching and flexibility components of it. I think looking at the physiques on the male dancers doesn't hurt either. These guys look like they've been carved from marble and then lacquered into a luxurious shine. I'm not sure if a few grande plies in our family room will get you there but the dream is alive and well. And for now I'm loving having an exercise partner, some validation that my work out is hard too, and pride in knowing that MY MAN is man enough to dance.