Tai Chi I went to my first class last night, here. I’m still trying to understand. It was good. That much I know. I woke up this morning with little soreness (mostly in the ankles, what there was of it), but my skin was waxy. Waxy! Not oily. Not sweaty or sticky. No. Pardon me for being, uh, gross, but the last time I felt skin like this was on corpses at the nursing home, years ago.
The class consisted both of white belts and other colors. (You get belts for this, because self-defense techniques are taught alongside the wellness techniques.) The white belts didn’t say a word to me, but the other four people were all polite, all introduced themselves. Half the class was slow movements and much breathing; half the class was a workout with a long staff. I got to fart around with a metal fan a little, which, due to the innumerable bamboo/paper contraptions I fluttered over childhood tea parties, I was able to open, shut, and flip over without thumping myself or scraping up my hands.
About halfway through the class, I felt both tired and trambling with nervous energy.
I was probably trying too hard.