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UPSIDE DOWN
NORMAL PEOPLE PACE when they’re nervous. Olly stalks.
“Olly! It’s just a handstand. Against a wall. I’ll be fine.” It’s taken me an hour to
convince him to show me how to do one.
“You don’t have enough wrist or upper body strength,” he grumbles.
“You used that one already. Besides, I’m strong,” I say, and flex a single bicep. “I can
bench-press my weight in books.”
He smiles a little at that, then mercifully stops stalking. He flicks his rubber band as his
eyes scan my body, mentally critiquing my lack of physical fortitude.
I roll my eyes as dramatically as possible.
“Fine,” he sighs, with equal drama. “Squat.” He demonstrates.
“I know what a—”
“Concentrate.”
I squat down.
From across the room he checks my form and instructs me to make adjustments—
hands twelve inches apart, arms straight with elbows pressed against my knees, fingertips
splayed—until I’m just right.
“Now,” he says, “shift your weight forward just slightly until your toes come off the
ground.”
I shift too far and roll head over heels onto my back.
“Huh,” he says, and then presses his lips together. He’s trying not to laugh, but the
telltale dimple gives it away. I get back in position.
“More shift, less tilt,” he says.
“I thought I was shifting.”
“Not so much. OK, now. Watch me.” He crouches down. “Hands twelve inches apart,
elbows against your knees, fingertips splayed. Then slowly, slowly shift your weight
forward onto your shoulders—get those toes off the ground—and then just push yourself
up.” He pushes up into the handstand with his usual effortless grace. Again I’m struck by
how peaceful he is in motion. This is like meditation for him. His body is his escape from
the world, whereas I’m trapped in mine.
“Do you want to see it again?” he asks, flowing back to his feet.
“Nope.” Overeager, I push forward into my shoulder as instructed, but nothing
happens. Nothing happens for about an hour. My lower half remains firmly anchored to
the ground while my upper arms burn from the effort. I manage several more
unintentional somersaults. By the end all I’ve gotten good at is not yelping as I roll over.