I have two words: Incredible and Depressing.
Don't get me wrong; that's not to be mistaken with 'incredibly depressing'
May I expound...
This was my first ever Cirque du Soleil experience; and that's exactly what it was... a complete experience. My mind was blown.
They were doing things up there that:
A. I wouldn't do even if I had a safety net beneath me.
B. My body probably couldn't do even if I wanted to try.
C. Gave me anxiety just watching.
So, I learned that in order to actually be in Cirque du Soleil you must:
- Have impeccable balance. You must be able to balance all of your body weight upside down while on one hand and moving your legs from side to side making it seem like it is easiest thing to come along since the hot pocket.
- Have a nineteen pack. Yeah, you heard me. These people were frighteningly in shape.
- Be able to do acrobatic moves on the ground and in the air without running into the person who coincidentally is headed straight for you also flipping and turning while somehow knowing exactly whats in front of them. Unnatural. Unnerving.
When you walk away from the show, this is what you realize:
- I count it a success and a good balance day when I don't accidentally run into a wall; or when I'm walking next to someone and they don't ask me to walk at least two feet away from them so I don't keep bumping into them.
- I may be in shape; but where on earth do you get a nineteen pack?! Do you have to apply for one?
- My gymnast friend Jacob once tried to teach me how to do flips in the air... the only thing stopping me however was the fact that my fluidity and coordination is akin to that of seahorse in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Lots of room for improvement. So as a break from the big stuff he tried to teach me how to do a ninja flip (a cartwheel with no hands [I'm well aware that this maneuver has a real name, but 'ninja flip' sounds a lot more butch... so I'm sticking with it]).
So there I was in the middle of the air executing the stealthy (yet deadly) ninja flip when I hear a alamingly loud riiiiiiippppp ....pppppp ...ppp ..pppppp ....ipipipip ...ppppp ...... thud! Only to have landed on the ground (side first) becoming fully aware that not only have I completely failed my ninja kick attempt but have simultaneously blown out the crotch of my pants. A continual tare that starts at the zipper and continues about 6-8 inches on both sides of each pant leg.
As a result I spent the rest of the time hiding my fair to moderately breezy pants behind a giant potted plant until everyone was ready to leave. Rest assured, my friends milked that one for all it was worth.
- Needless to say I wont be joining the Cirque du Soleil touring troupe any time soon.
- Hate to kick a dead horse, but nineteen pack?! Really?! How the..?!
- Word to the wise; never attempt anything that may look ninja-ish in your jeans. You will severely regret your decision. You have been warned.