I’M determined to thrash my vertigo into submission, so I’ve signed myself up for a load of trapeze and aerial rope tomfoolery over the next few months.
Instead of hoisting us atop a platform and screaming GO! like the last place, this school coaches you in everything from working out, to throwing shapes, to take offs, to landing. Seems sensible.
On the static trapeze we work through pikes, hocks, hangs and beats, in what’s supposed to be a fluid motion – and probably would be if you were cursed with short, stumpy legs. For the lithe-limbed, it’s quite difficult not to entirely flip oneself over when asked merely to hover upside down in the air.
At the last school there were hoards of acrospunks coaching a big class, but this time there are five girls and one acrodude, whose arms aren’t quite built up enough for my liking. We’re not doing catches this week though, so I won’t worry about it now.
Last time, we swung about over a big rig, but this time it’s a ‘Petit Volant’, which basically means you’re trying to land on your feet on a crash pad instead of on your arse on a net. More worryingly, the girls in the class are expected to hold each other’s weight atop the platform and trust each other to let go/not wobble at pertinent times. Between us there are two cases of vertigo, two of myopia, and one of unbelievable stupidity, but these kinks are presumably hammered out over time.
Keeper: Yep, working on those developing those calluses before I attempt moves like “rear-mount”, “suicide” and “reverse suicide”.
Hey man, now you're really living 
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