Dancing down highway to health

German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once said that “we should consider every day lost in which we have not danced at least once.”

A few weeks ago I would have looked at Nietzsche, if he weren’t in his grave, like he was crazy.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind watching dancers who know what they’re doing “cutting a rug,” as my grandpa used to say.

I just never thought about dancing myself. I’ve watched all the popular television shows because I’m a reality TV addict. I’ve seen “Dancing with the Stars” and “So You Think You Can Dance” and I really like both of those shows.

I’ve just been a big, slow dude with no rhythm my entire life. I couldn’t hear the beat in a song even if the song’s only instruments were drums.

I’ve always listened to the singer more than the music. There are exceptions. My favorite two bands are the Dave Matthews Band and O.A.R. and I listen to those guys for their music.

For the most part, I’ve never really thought about dancing. My only exposure has been some beginner’s shag lessons and many college nights spent “in the club.”

Of course, shagging is great and I can still do it a little bit, and those “club” days, which weren’t really dancing at all, are long gone.

It was strange that I got excited at the possibility of dancing. For me it has always been awkward.

I think a lot of people shy away from dancing because of their adolescent days. I know everyone out there can relate.

As teenagers, we’re put in this awkward position, especially guys, of asking someone to the school dance. Now… we didn’t know how to dance at that young age and we definitely weren’t sure about that end of the night slow dance.

Even before the dance, we’re placed in a state of shock because we’ve got to ask a girl to the dance! Some just decide not to ask anyone to the dance because they “can’t dance.”

Here I am now with my 30-year-old birthday on the horizon and I still don’t know how to dance.
How embarrassing!

I know I’m only 27, but I’ve been in a reflective mood lately. I don’t want my life to pass by without trying different things. I’ve got a list that I’m mulling over in my head. There’s tennis, skydiving, hiking, scuba diving, sailing, and a whole host of other things.

Dancing just happened to be near the top of that list and it’s something easily accessible.

That’s where my search for a dance teacher came in. The road toward light feet and some wagging hips led me to Laraine and Ki Wells.

I called Laraine and asked her about teaching me how to dance. This poor woman didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

There’s an old saying that “white people can’t dance.” While that may be an offensive stereotype, it was complete truth in my case.

As I told you before, I couldn’t hear the beat of any song. It could be the most blatant beat in the entire world and I wouldn’t hear it. The beat could walk straight up and slap me in the face and I wouldn’t hear it. My wife gives me these strange, embarrassed looks at concerts when I begin clapping to the beat. In my mind, I’m on the beat, but those looks always tell me that I’m not on the beat. It’s gotten to the point that at concerts, I’ll watch others clapping just so that I can clap on beat. Isn’t that sad?

What were the Wells going to do with a guy like me?

I was a duck out of water.

However, that didn’t matter. Dancing is good exercise and I was going to try it. It’s a part of my cardio routine as I journey down my highway to health.

Not to mention that I’m willing to try just about anything to escape the mundane boredom of life. I have my limits, of course, but dancing doesn’t exceed those limits, unless of course I pull a muscle doing the Triple-Step Swing or break my wife’s toe doing the Fox Trot.

Nonetheless, I’m now a dancing machine.

Next week, I’ll give you insight on my actual experiences with learning to dance so far.

I can go ahead and tell you that I’ve had my ups and downs and the road has been fun so far.

So stay tuned as your favorite sports reporter learns to bend his knees, loosen up, get down on the dance floor, and how he finally hears a beat!

As a preview, I’ll tell you one thing. Nietzsche was right. A day without dancing is a lost one.