My Mind's Ink

“Yes! You’re gooshy!” she said, and threw her hand at me in exasperation. We didn’t know it yet, but this was a significant discovery; I was gooshy.

I was a 35 year old Engineer and computer programmer, with no experience that would recommend me to the job of acrobat, but enthusiasm counters almost anything. I became a professional circus performer.

I just phoned up a circus company. I said, “A lady you know from Edmonton said I should call you when I moved to Vancouver. I liked her circus class. Um, she said I should call you?” I was nervous about this. They said, “See you Monday night.” So after work I went, and I trained with them for about about two years.

I tried many things. The first one I loved, was standing on the end of the Teeterboard when two people jumped off a tower on to the other end. The result was a rocket ride three or four storeys into the air.

The teeterboard pushes you up with an impressive force. When you first learn, you simply stand as stiff as the board you are on. As you progress you learn how to make a tiny jump, only a small bend of your knees, and then you straighten in time with the jumpers from the tower. The smallest of efforts, properly timed, are magnified by the springy board and give you extra height. However, if you are out of alignment, or your timing is off, the board will drive your feet upwards so hard that your knees buckle, and you will do what is refered to as a buck-a-roo. I only ever did one buck-a-roo, it was enough to end my career as a Teeterboard artist.

Every Wednesday we did Teeterboard. I did it for, probably eight evenings. For the first six I wore a safety harness, in my mind, it was part of the ride. The seventh night the harness came off at the end of practice. I did a couple landings without thinking about that too much, the evening ended with success. On the eighth night, I lost it, a bit, and that was enough.

As the feet of the two tower jumpers began to descend, my concentration drifted, and when I found it again, that board was driving my feet straight into my ass. The next day it felt like I had done a couple hundred deep knee bends. I was thrown, ass over tea kettle, limbs flailing, in a small awkward arc that had me landing on my head. My spotters guided me to the ground safely, but it changed my perspective. This fabulous fun would never replace my income, and was an irretrievably stupid risk for a man who made his living using the contents of his skull.

So, I mostly praticed two person hand to hand acrobatics, which I was much better at anyway. My partner and I worked on tricks, or moves, tie enough of those together successfully, you end up with a performance.

In this trick. My partner and I face each other two strides apart. I’m crouching slightly, my elbows are locked and my hands are laced between my knees. She walks forward, places her hands on my shoulders, steps one foot into the cradle of my palms, and as she drives her body up I straighten, lifting her foot. On the way up, she pirouettes as I separate my hands, I catch her other foot as she completes the spin, she locks every muscle in her body, I catch her momentum, and we end with her standing in my hands at shoulder level. Simple.

We couldn’t get it. Night after night I thought, “I’ll never be strong enough, she’s too heavy, I’m old, my back hurts, this whole thing is ridiculous! But we are so close!” I didn’t think I’d be able to do it.

Unlocking the secrets of an acrobatics move was fun, and something entirely unique, or it was for me. You have to find a language to express a physical movement that alludes description. It becomes this nebulous thing. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t find the words to say why. Actually, I never knew, I was terrible at knowing what was wrong, but they did.

Two members of our group were helping us practice. They were also boy / girl hand to hand actobats. They were strong and talented performers who had mastered this trick, and went on to circus fame. On this day however, they were trying to help my partner and I figure out the problem.

The girl training us tried it with me a couple of times. The two of us couldn’t do it either, so there was no doubt the source of the problem, it was me. She stepped back and said, “I don’t know. I can’t push. He’s gooshy.”

My partner is French. Her English is excellent, but this lost her, so she wrinkled her forehead and asked, “What is gooshy?”

“I don’t know. I go to stand, and he’s not there, his hands aren’t solid. I can’t push. He’s gooshy.”

Now she got it. “Yes! You’re gooshy!” she said, and threw her hand at me in exasperation. They watch me now. As she steps into my hands I drop them a fraction. I was readying myself to lift an enormous weight, except she wasn’t, she was tiny, but I was trying to do all the work. When she began to push I fell out below her, so I had to catch her first, which worked against both of us, and felt impossible.

As I crouched down ready to try again I muttered my new mantra, “No gooshy, no gooshy, no gooshy.” And I moved against her foot as soon as I felt it. Fluid power, like an arc on graph paper, up over my head, spin, and she’s standing in my hands. Beautiful. Simple.

It’s the beginning of February. Usually I’m thinking uncharitable thoughts about the people crowding the exercise equipment. Just give up on your stupid New Year’s Resolution already. New leaf time.

Yoga, tennis, walking, rock climbing, swimming, rowing, boxing, biking, dancing, bowling, running, stretching, or maybe the flying trapeze. Find something you can enjoy. You’re body is a depreciating asset, but there is unfound power and grace in it yet. There is poetry in motion.

I was paid for one circus performance. It was the hardest won money of my life. I’m proud of it.

Thank you:

• Peter and Nino, founders of The Underground Circus, who trained me.
• Jeff and Kelsey, featured performers in their second Cirque du Soliel show, who discovered what made me gooshy.
• Marie-eve, actress, acrobat, stunt woman, and yoga teacher who trusted me to balance her in the air, when she probably shouldn’t have.
• The family I met at the Underground Circus.

My apologies:

To you, for that being so much like liner notes, from a teen heartbreak album.

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