New Year’s Eve belly dancing hurt me in many ways

By Ann Ipock                                                       January 20, 2010

I had no idea that partying New Year’s Eve could be so expensive and so very painful! And that, in addition, these problems would be ongoing a full week after the holiday passed. But that’s what I get for trying to keep up with Sasha, the belly dancer. Let me explain:

It all started when hub-Russ and I went to a party at a local Greek restaurant that featured belly dancing as entertainment. This restaurant is owned by the family of our daughter, Katie’s, boyfriend, Michael. So I knew the food would be spectacular, the ambience amazing and the festivities memorable. And they were! This is a restaurant that we discovered a few years back and we’ve been regulars ever since.

The only downer was that Katie and Michael didn’t go out with us because Katie had her four wisdom teeth extracted that very morning. Instead, Michael was happily feeding Katie Jell-O, pudding and milkshakes. Isn’t he a doll? Russell and I were enjoying the evening with our many friends—Greeks, Italians, Southerners and Northerners, dining, laughing and thoroughly enjoying the music and the dazzling, beautiful Sasha—as if this were an every night occurrence. Her dancing was tasteful, exotic and perfectly timed. Her silky, colorful scarves were flying all around her, the small cymbals (zils) in her delicate hands clanged to the beat of the rhythm and her tiny feet lifted her body as her hips swayed. Everyone was mesmerized. Then it happened: she asked for a volunteer from the audience. Why not? I thought. It’s New Year’s Eve. Live a little! Try something new! As I slipped into the spotlight I saw Russell (Oscar the Grouch) roll his eyes and smirk.

Now, please understand, I’d never make it to “Dancing with the Stars”, but let’s just say I do have a little rhythm. In fact, I’ve been practicing a little belly dancing lately with “Shimmy” on Fit TV; learning the Maya, the hip-piston, cut turn, chest camel and other moves. So I was fair game. I took cues from Sasha as I moved my hips back and forth, softened my knees and even did snake arms, all while twisting and turning. I was feeling pretty agile—“loose as a goose,” they say. It wasn’t long before I was hearing some applause and Sasha herself said I was “very good.” True, I didn’t have the body, the hair, the costume or the youth of Sasha, but I almost—notice I say almost—felt like we were on an even keel. (In hindsight, who was I kidding?) The night wore on and a couple of others took the challenge, dancing with Sasha and taking a few pointers as they went along.

After that, Russell and I returned home early for our yearly ritual: to watch the ball drop on Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve TV show (and to avoid crazy drivers on the highway), then made our annual toast, shared a midnight kiss and off to bed we went. The next day went fine. In fact, I don’t remember anything special except going to the grocery store and watching a movie that night.

But the third day, oh, that third day—OMG! I woke up with excruciating back pain. I crawled out of bed, grabbed some Extra-Strength Tylenol and a glass of water and muttered a few choice words. Eventually, I limbered up a bit, but the pain returned once more. Since then I’ve used a heating pad, tried light stretching and again, Tylenol. I thought I was getting better and decided to waste no more time, by keeping my New Year’s resolution of getting trim and fit. Off to the gym I went this morning with a little pain but a whole lot of determination. I decided my aerobics class would either “cure me” or “kill me.” Guess which one happened?

Moaning, groaning, and unable to lift my arms over my head, I somehow drove my wretched body to my doctor’s office. It wasn’t easy because my back muscles spasmed while simply holding the steering wheel. Plus I couldn’t turn my head to switch lanes. I hobbled up the sidewalk and into the doctor’s examining room, trying to explain the who/what/when/where/why of my dilemma. She touched the areas that were sore and even though it hurt, it felt good in a weird way. I told her it reminded me of a massage, which I’ve sorely missed lately. After a prescription of cortisone and a muscle relaxer, she advised me (doctor’s orders) to get that massage in about a week—after the swelling goes down.

I’m here to tell you that my belly dancing experience cost me a lot. Pain. Pride. Frustration. Money: Who would’ve thought I’d spend about $160, everything considered? But this is the worst part: What about my New Year’s resolution of a slim, trim body? I sure hope the rest of 2010 shapes up a little better, no pun intended.

There’s no nation like procrastination

By Ann Ipock                                                            January 5, 2010

For all you folks out there whose hobby is procrastination—and I’m one of those who have perfected it to a high art—here’s some news: your days of smoking are numbered. In fact, N.C. just enacted a ban January 2nd making it illegal to smoke in restaurants or bars, with the exception of cigar bars. So if you’ve put off kicking the habit, here’s a big incentive. In fact, N.C. now joins 28 states who’ve enacted the same ban, as well as 36 other states who’ve enacted similar smoking bans. Our sister state, S.C., has chosen their ban city-by-city and presently has 24 cities on board, as far as I can tell.

It’s no coincidence that here in N.C., GlaxoSmithKline has taken out full page ads to encourage–or should I say lambast—those nicotine addicts to stop smoking by purchasing Nicorette! The ad reads, “Dear Smokers, 2010 is going to suck.” Interesting word, huh, “suck?” Especially since smokers literally suck or puff on cigarettes. Anyway, the ad goes on to tell you 2010 won’t suck if you buy their Nicorette gum which will help you stop smoking. And there are other companies to “help” us as well. (Isn’t that nice?) There’s Chantix who shows Lisa from N.C. convincing us on T.V. She even TELLS us she’s from N.C. and seems to be proud of it. Is that a coincidence? I think not. There’s also NicoDerm CQ patch and Committ lozenge. All this information makes me wonder if I should start. No, no, not start smoking, you silly goose: but instead, start buying some of the above-named company’s stock. I’m just saying.

Remember when smoking was “too cool for school?” Ridiculous? You bet. But I think back to the days when our high school had an outside designated smoking area for senior students only. (We also had a senior fountain.) This was in the late 60’s and early 70’s. After all, this was in the Tarheel State also dubbed “Tobacco Road.” On the one hand, you couldn’t wait to become a senior, a twelfth grader, because you could smoke on campus. (I’ll bet you thought seniors looked forward to their final year, then college and independence.) On the other hand, I’d have been clobbered by my parents if I’d smoked. And yet, both of my parents smoked, as well as my grandparents. Don’t worry: they’ve all quit since then. I would’ve been grounded for sure if I’d smoked. Now there’s another interesting word: “grounded.” It’s funny because I’m sure children nowadays only hear the word “grounded” when an airplane can’t take off. But if my friends or I were grounded waaaaaaay back then, it was terrible! Phew! Talk about clipping your wings: it meant no ball games, movies, dances, hanging out with friends, etc. for anywhere from a week to a lifetime.

But back to smoking: just to set the record straight about smoking cessation, I feel your pain, smokers of America. Truly, I do. Because yes, I’m ashamed to say, I was once a smoker. I got into the habit in my early 20’s. Even though it was for just a couple of years, I remember how hard it was to quit. I especially missed that first and last cigarette of the day and the one after a meal. The reason I quit was both smart and stupid—smart, because I had a case of bronchitis on my honeymoon. Not romantic and certainly not fun. Stupid because I should’ve never started smoking in the first place.

However, hubby Russell didn’t follow suit. He waited two more years to give up the habit, with my continuous prodding and plotting. His reason for quitting was also smart and stupid. The stupid part I’ve already mentioned. The smart part was because neither of us wanted to bring up a child in a smoke-filled home, since we were planning a pregnancy. He did indeed quit, we became pregnant and Katie was born into a smoke-free home.

With all that said, in the interest of clean air and obeying the law, I’m offering up my top ten reasons to encourage you to quit smoking, in no particular order: 1) You’ll feel so much better—no more getting out of breath walking up a few flights of stairs. 2) You’ll smell better—clothes-wise, hair-wise, breath-wise. 3) You’ll save LOTSA money—at $35 a carton, you do the math. 4) You’ll be able to taste food once again. 5) You won’t have to sneak off for cigarette breaks. 6) You won’t be fumbling for a cigarette or a light while driving or otherwise engaged. 7) You won’t panic when you do run out of cigarettes. 8) No burnt holes in the couch, chair or carpet. 9) No more staring at your watch or pacing the floor, waiting for that moment when you can light up. 10) You’ll be obeying the law; of course, this is depending on where you live. So, stop procrastinating! Just say no! You can do it! I did.