While pondering about "pausing", our author remembered how great she used to think of breakdancing. She is particularly fond of these moves that look like frozen. Well
by Lena Schindler
Test object
Lena Schindler, 42, who dreams of breakdancing but doesn't even have her own sweatpants.
Test environment
Private lesson in the Jugendkunsthaus Esche.
Mission
Completed!
Once upon a time there was a hip hop night in the provincial town I come from, sometime in the early 90s, just before the word "disco" stopped being used. The first beats of "Hey You" from the Rock Steady Crew rang out, a circle formed on the dance floor, I stepped out and opened my breakdance set with a more than great step combo. This city had never seen anything like it: I screwed over the ground in a "windmill", waddled on my hands like a turtle, turned on my head at a mad pace and ended my performance with a "television freeze" (looks like someone watching on the sofa!). The audience went wild. I cut them all away.
Make up for missed opportunities
This childlike fantasy of greatness couldn't be further from reality. I was shy, afraid to be the center of attention. Even before taking part in the breakdance course, which I really wanted to be able to do. Instead, I watched films like "Beat Street" or "Wild Style!" in continuous loop, watched in fascination when the coolest guys in town trained their moves in the youth center. And secretly practiced alone at home, which was pointless because I had neither a linoleum floor nor a corrective, let alone a room big enough not to tear down the contents of the shelves every time I tried.
As a grown-up, I grieve that I used to have my pants full. And I feel that I owe it to my younger self to make up for missed opportunities. Yes, I would go to a training session a few decades later than the average maybe, but definitely not: too late.
My search on the net for a coach near me reveals something surprising: Even though it has grown up, I know the face of the man who teaches this demanding discipline and who is now known as "The Dad of All" in Hamburg's hip-hop scene becomes. Because he is one of the guys I used to admire in the youth center in my hometown and – like me – moved to the Elbe years ago: Christian Delles, better known as Beat Boy Delles. Although the knowledge of our common past could maximally increase my shame, I am sure: He is my husband! As a board member of the association Deluxe Kidz e.V., founded by rapper Samy Deluxe, he trains children and young people from different countries of origin, cultures, milieus and age groups. Since we are the same year, I have the hope that he can also adapt to the needs of late beginners.
Convert negative energies into positive ones
When I stand in front of the Jugendkunsthaus Esche in Altona with borrowed sweatpants, sneakers and a roll of glucose, things go through my head: Will I still be able to pick up my children from daycare afterwards? Does the word breakdance suggest the danger for people my age of seriously injuring themselves?
"No, no, we'll forget that term again anyway," explains Beat Boy Delles after I had laboriously suppressed the question of whether he might remember me from his youthful days (I'm afraid: no!). "The name was invented by the mainstream. We say B-Boying, that's very important!" – "Is B-girling also possible?" I ask. Nod. And one more reassuring piece of information: "At Deluxe-Kidz we don't want to breed people who will be on stage at some point," says Christian, "we want to offer children and young people a cool alternative to social media." They should be introduced to music, language, dance, performing and visual arts through rap, graffiti, beatboxing and b-boying. "It's about having fun, gaining self-confidence, it's a form of empowerment."
When we stand next to each other in front of the mirrored wall, Christian tells me that hip-hop is about converting negative energies into positive ones: "Anyone who thinks it has something to do with Gucci bags, drugs and weapons has misunderstood something . " As we warm up, he says: "This is extreme on the body! Are you ready?" My meek "no" is lost in a 1973 classic: "Apache" by the Incredible Bongo Band. Fortunately also the cracking that I feel in my joints. We practice a few dance steps, "Toprocks" and "Uprocks", about the creation of which my coach knows so much that he could be considered a "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" Phone joker for this specialty. Since the coordination of the limbs is one of my poorly developed skills, I get tangled up with the basics. He finds it unproblematic that my dance hardly bears any resemblance to that of my trainer. "With B-Boying you have to develop your own unique style. Don't copy, but carry your insides onto the dance floor."
Don't lose your balance
I listen carefully to his instructions and try, in the truest sense of the word, to keep up. "We give everything, 5, 6, 7, go!" He calls out to me. "Now you put it on this beat, don't worry, you can do it!" Contrary to my expectation of being overtaken by the demons of my lackluster youth in this situation or of getting the idea of being ashamed of something, I think of: nothing. I don't have time for it, I'm very focused, I'm sweating. When the choreography from "Indian Step", in which the leg translates diagonally, a "Cross Turn" with a standing turn and the suggested football shot "Kick Ball Change" is somewhat sitting, I breathe a sigh of relief. During the break, which I now urgently need, Christian shows me a video of a dancer of elementary school age. He manages to turn on his head for so long that just watching is a challenge for someone with travel sickness. My teacher's comment: "That's a headspin, Lena, we're doing that too!"
At that moment, I curse myself for my lethargic way of hanging around on the couch with wool socks, chips and trash TV instead of going to yoga regularly. "To learn a headspin, many people need six months," he reassures me – unfortunately we can't do it today – "but if the success is there, then it's endorphin-like. At some point, you can go on for as long rotate as you want. " At least I want to manage a respectable "Freeze", a technique in which all body movements are stopped and look frozen. Beat Boy Delles gives me instructions while I crouch on the floor: "Put your elbows in your navel, put your head down, build tension, lift your legs, turn your pelvis, hold, hold, hold!" That's the problem: not to lose your balance. And the power. I fight, I clench my teeth, keep falling apart like a picked poppy. However, my coach sees things positively: "Yes, great, you are in a good mood!"
After practicing the so-called "Baby Freeze" many times, I notice how my wrists hurt, how badly my abdominal muscles are trained, how badly I need some glucose. "What are you really good at?" Asks Christian suddenly. Since I don't dare to say "roll forward", I claim, "headstand." I can at least hold it as long as I don't have to turn around. An answer with consequences. Because the coming "freezes" I will do upside down – until my face has taken on a deep burgundy color and I feel a pressure point on the back of my head that stays with me for days. "Hip-hop is also about presenting yourself, so let's be a bit outstanding, Lena!" Christian challenges me as I stay on my head. Okay, I'll try, but can my feet get back on the ground, please?
I leave the crime scene on weak legs but with a broad chest. No endorphin rush, but enormous muscle soreness. "Show me what you learned today," says my husband. I answer with a quote from another classic: "… don’t push me’ cause I'm close to the edge ". I just don't have more to say today.