Our familiar instructor directs us to a collection of hula hoops against the wall. Of the various diameters and colors, though most are black with bands of neon pink or green curled around the exterior of the tubing, we are advised to choose a hoop reaching our belly button. She says our belly button, not our navel. Matching her words, our instructor glides over to a boom box, pigtails waving, peppermint striped skirt floating.
And the beats start up. But lightly. The pop tunes hover underneath the instructions:
When the hoop touches you, you move into it. It helps some to keep one foot in front of the other.
Our communal gyrations begin.
The beats get louder as the instructions get more complicated. Through crashes, rogue hoops, and wall bumps, the group achieves a rhythm. We don't start or stop at the same time, but the process is constant. Where we come together is in noticing the achievements of one another.
We run through a series of tricks, the movement of our borders increasing with our foibles and smiles.
Now for the big hoop. We have a moment discussing strategy. How do several people hula hoop in an oversized model? Starting small we succeed through one member of our team. Add more.
And we succeed in a different way. The hoop falls, but everyone wants to figure out how we can make it work next time.
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