I cannot follow directions. I watch TikTok dance videos in awe. Line dancing, fuhgeddaboudit. In an exercise class everyone goes left, I go right. You get the point.

That said, I have been an athlete my whole life. I played sports since elementary school, was awarded a Division I athletic scholarship for tennis, and qualified for the Boston Marathon after running my first marathon. What I lack in grace, I make up for in strength, speed, and most importantly gumption.

At my age many people pursue bridge to improve cognitive function and pickleball for a physical challenge. I have chosen aerial arts as my old lady mind, body, and soul challenge.  

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Flying High

Aerial Arts is a type of practice in which one or more artists perform an off-the-ground dance and acrobatics sequences. Apparatus include silks, rope, hammock, lyra (hoop), and the bar.

I discovered aerial arts after attending many circus-style burlesque cabaret shows that feature scantily-clad young performers dancing and spinning through the air, beautifully contorting their strong yet flexible bodies. 

Watching these aerialists perform death-defying routines, spinning at top speed, I mused, “I want to try that.”

Craning my neck to watch these aerialists perform death-defying routines, spinning at top speed, I mused, “I want to try that.” That said, I’ve never thought about skydiving after watching someone jump out of a plane. There is nothing thrilling to me about losing control.

I discovered Aerial Arts NYC after a Google search. I assumed I would have to go to a distant Brooklyn warehouse at least an hour away from my apartment on the Upper West Side. But that would not deter me. 

Brooklyn was where I went to a Warrior Challenge gym class when I aspired to compete as an American Ninja warrior for a hot minute. I also traveled two subways to play in a “nine dudes and one dudette” summer softball league deep in Brooklyn. I wasn’t daunted by the commute.

That said, I was happy to learn that the gym was in midtown Manhattan, a short subway ride from my apartment. I signed up for a single “Intro to the Hammock” class.

My First Circus Experience

This was not my first foray into circus acts. When my children were little, I won a trip to Club Med in the Bahamas with others from my company who were awarded top greeting-card salesperson. One of the Club Med activities was the flying trapeze. I was naturally drawn to it.  As a metaphorically trapped suburban mom, I wanted to fly.

As a metaphorically trapped suburban mom, I wanted to fly.

While for the average 40-something woman, propelling herself through the air to be caught sounds scary, for me the hardest part of the flying trapeze was climbing the stairs. I am deathly afraid of heights. Ascending Jack’s beanstalk high stairs – free solo – was the only time I would not be secure. 

As I anxiously rapidly climbed the 25 feet of stairs – don’t look up, don’t look down – I thought to myself “You survived three hours of intense labor, you can survive this.” That was my Gloria Gaynor-inspired psyche-up mantra when I faced a daunting challenge.

The knee hang is the first trick everyone does. It’s easy for most and when the trapeze artist grabs your wrists and you unlock your knees, you happily, proudly hang suspended. 

Other than the thrill of the suspended knee hang and then letting go, there is not much else hard about it. I wanted more.

The skill I was next taught was the return: twisting around and letting go at the precise time to grab and catch the original bar.  Since I was tethered, missing the bar only meant falling gently into the soft, supple net. I mastered that skill, too.

“Teach Me Another Trick!”  

The climb never got less daunting, but the adrenaline carried me up. I mastered more advanced tricks, including propelling myself through the air like Superman, and performed in their show.   

Back in my adrenaline-draining life of mothering two young children in suburbia, I fantasized about running away to the circus or at least taking classes. Disappointingly, an internet search provided no local circus school results, but I didn’t entirely forget that feeling of flying through the air.

Climbing Back Up

Twenty years later, it was time, and I walked into Aerial Arts NYC. Various colorful apparatus hung from the high ceiling. I got excited. I inhaled deeply and entered fully knowing I’d be the oldest person in my class by at least 30 years. Since this wasn’t my first age-inappropriate rodeo, that no longer intimidated me.

I knew I’d be the oldest person in my class, but this wasn’t my first age-inappropriate rodeo, so that no longer intimidated me.

As suspected, the hardest part for me was the directions. Each move was multi-stepped. I wasn’t surprised that I had the strength – more than my younger classmates – but I didn’t have natural grace and absolutely needed remedial guidance in going from one move to the next.

“Wait. What comes next? I put my hands which way?” I’d ask.

“No. The other way,” came the answer.

Aerialists are flexible. I am working on that, but doubt I’ll be able to fully split. My tight hip flexors cannot be easily unglued.

Most aerialists are trained dancers. Not this aerial artist. Their feet point; mine flex. I’m working on that too. 

The other deficit I didn’t consider was the intense motion sickness I felt after the first class. The dizziness and nausea lasted a full hour. I have since learned to eat a small meal an hour before class and consume ginger chews right before. The brain does start to adjust, too, or so they say.

I have taken about ten classes now. I have tried several of the apparatus and have chosen the lyra, the aerial ring, as my apparatus of choice. It’s more acrobatic than dance and less upside-down.  It’s supposed to be the most painful since the ring is a hard unforgiving surface, but my hands are used to being calloused – a badge of athletic honor – and I have a high pain threshold.

Embracing the Challenge

Why do I persevere?

I call this my year of grace to see if I can go from the lumbering jock to a poised dancer. We are encouraged to videotape ourselves as a form of a mirror. I eagerly watch myself on the train ride home and feel an incredible sense of accomplishment.

While I have no delusions of advancing beyond the beginner class nor to be an actual aerialist, I’m grateful that, at 62, I can still dream that I can. 

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Caytha Jentis’s tombstone epitaph will read “She Lived Life for The Story.”  She is a playwright, essayist, screenwriter, and film producer.  She has written five produced feature films and most recently had a stage play open Off Broadway – her first. Her rallying cry is Fun Never Gets Old!