Throughout my life, I'd spent a few moments here and there thinking about being able to stand on my hands, especially whenever I'd see someone do a cartwheel! Then the moment would pass.
Recently, however, the moment got stuck. "I want to do that!" I thought, then: "Am I destined to go my life without being able to?" I knew if I got some instruction and then practiced, it would happen. But I'd never before taken even a baby step in that direction.
At my local Gold's Gym, Adam, a bright young guy who worked the front desk on Saturdays, seemed my ticket. Always in the midst of doing something creative-sketching, drawing, break dancing, studying Zuma--Adam surely could show me how. I just knew it.
I was afraid to ask him though, knowing that once I did, I'd be off in a new, uncontrollable, scary direction. I might fail too, so was I up for that? I wasn't sure.
Many weeks went by and one Saturday I knew it was time. Caught unawares at first when I asked Adam about it, he nonetheless responded as I'd expected him to: "Sure, I can teach you that. Why do you ask?"
"I've been thinking about it all my life," I said. "The time has finally come!" He seemed reluctant at first, perhaps wondering how serious I was but he jumped up and walked me to a spare spot on the gym wall. Plunking himself down into a headstand, he then smoothly pushed his arms up. Voila! A perfect handstand!
"Now you try," he said, bounding back up.
A headstand I actually could do, having taught myself years before. It came right back to me, like riding the proverbial bike. But I couldn't replicate what Adam had done. Though an amateur weightlifter for 20 years, I couldn't push myself up.
"It's not about strength but balance," Adam explained. "Get your body in the right alignment, then simply lift yourself up." He got down, showed me again. It looked so easy.
He pulled over a floor mat to protect me from slamming down, then left me to practice. This though led only to more frustration as I could not so much as budge myself off my head.
In subsequent days, I tried again and again. The headstand was easy but raising up on my hands proved impossible. I tried kicking my legs up while on outstretched arms or climbing the wall with my upraised feet. Nothing.
"Remember balance," Adams coached the following Saturday. "Your center of gravity is key."
For three more weeks I really worked at it. In the middle of a ball field I tried freestanding on my arms but to no avail. I also hooked my legs up on a chain-link fence so I couldn't possibly fall back down. That worked a little, keeping me up momentarily.
Finally, four weeks after my first lesson, I tasted small success. Propping the back of my head against a tennis court backboard, I got both legs straight up for four seconds! It was so quick I could hardly be sure it had happened! But it had.
So OK... this could be done! I got down and worked it again, failing and failing, and then, suddenly, up again for six seconds! Yes I was up there, perfectly balanced... I had stood on my hands!
I rushed over to the gym to tell Adam, practically beaming. "Great news!" he exclaimed, happy for me, but adding "Keep focusing on your balance."
Six weeks after I'd begun, everything came together. I kicked my legs up one day in the usual way and they stayed up there, for about twelve seconds! I went at it again and again and... yes!... I kept getting it, staying up there longer and longer. Despite so many failed attempts before, I now found myself succeeding nearly every time, managing t 10 handstands, each lasting 25-30 seconds.
Although not via the freestyle method that Adam had shown me, I could stand on my hands. Not every single time but enough times to instill confidence.
The next Saturday I reported to Adam. "I can do it now, let me show you," I said. We walked back to that original wall space as I realized I was taking my "final exam." Adam spreads out the floor mat again but I whisked it away.
"I don't need it," I said, taking Adam slightly aback as well.
Bending down, I placed my hands on the floor, took a deep breath, and placed my heads against the wall. Could I really do this, and with my "sensei" watching? Kicked up one leg expertly, then the other, I was quickly perfectly balanced. I held myself up there for my now-standard 20-count, then slowly let both legs glide down.
"You did it!" Adam said, elated. Weeks of persistence (plus frustration) had paid off.
Since that day, I always integrate 3 handstands into my gym routine so I don't lose my touch. Then I flash 3 fingers at Adam as I cruise out of the gym, Adam signaling back a thumbs-up. And if he's been chatting with someone, he tells them, simply, "That guy can stand on his hands."
Since that day, I always integrate 3 handstands into my gym routine so I don't lose my touch. Then I flash 3 fingers at Adam as I cruise out of the gym, Adam signaling back a thumbs-up. And if he's been chatting with someone, he tells them, simply, "That guy can stand on his hands."
Ken Lizotte is author of "The Expert's Edge" (McGraw-Hill) and "Beyond Reason" (emerson books), and a 20-year veteran of Gold's Gym in Concord, Massachusetts.
Expect frustration when embarking on a personal quest or journey... but persistence will help you win out and render weeks or years of frustration a sweet memory.
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