Capoiera

Against my better judgment I signed up for “Introduction to Capoiera.” There were three people in my class. (Well, four if you count the 5-year-old who kicked my ass.) His dad, another member of the class, was Brazilian, a martial artist and clearly had some previous experience as a Capoiera fighter. The other was a professional break-dancer, who admitted that she had not taken Capoiera in a few years. And even then, “It was a totally different style and mostly footwork.” The instructor was a buff Afro-Brazilian Capoiera fighter and consummate sadist.

He began the class, not by introducing himself, but by dropping to the floor and doing a push-up. “See this?”

"Yes."

“Well you’re gonna get real familiar with it in this class.”

I consider my own level of athleticism to be at least moderate to above average. Well, frankly, I consider myself totally ripped, but that’s another story.

I managed through the first 20 minutes fairly pleased with myself. I could do push-ups and jumping jacks and I could almost pull off a cartwheel.

After our warm-up, the instructor effortlessly guided my peers something like ground waltz that evolved into several cartwheels and a kick in the air. I tried to do another cartwheel without throwing up but I seemed unfairly bound by gravity. My friend in kindergarten did three cartwheels in a row and clapped for me each time I fell to the floor.

The class moves became more and more acrobatic as I watched from the corner.

It is rare that one has the opportunity to bask in the strength and agility of others so completely while upside down and staring in a mirror at one’s own trembling backside.

The good news is that humility is a virtue-one that can be acquired through this very lens.

And so, I am virtuous.