Even in Chicago, I was hesitant about taking classes. We were back for one and a half years before I decided to sign-up for a Pilates class and an ice skating class. And there was no excuse for waiting to take the ice skating class. I had taken many classes at McFetridge before and after Philip was born. I knew some of the instructors and the director of the program, but I kept putting it off. I had no time, I was too old, what if I fall and hurt myself--the list of excuses goes on.
Now, I have another excuse--my German is not good enough, which is true to a certain degree. I tried yoga classes last year, and I could get through the first half of each class, because we were doing poses that were familiar to me. My instructor was also a dancer, and the second half of each class involved quite a bit of improvisational dance. It also involved partnering, and I had trouble not only understanding what my teacher expected but what my partners expected. After six classes, I was too stressed to return. Especially since during the sixth class, she had us do a "relaxing" exercise, in which we were supposed to express our wishes. We were supposed to just say what ever came into our minds. I listed places I want to visit-South Africa, New Zealand, Chile--everyone else wished for world peace.
I tried a ballet class with an instructor from Pennsylvania. There were no communication problems, but I just did not enjoy the class. Allow me to digress here and mention that most schools here will let you try one class for free. They don't expect you to commit right away, kind of like a blind date.
I wanted to try horseback riding when we lived in Erlangen the first time around, because there are so many stables in the area. I actually started searching the Internet for info shortly after we returned, but not many of the stables have websites. A friend suggested that I just walk up and knock on the door. I finally found the "Mut" (courage) to do this last July. I rode my bike to a stable in Spardorf, the village next door, a five-minute bike ride, and asked about lessons in broken German. It turned out that the instructor, who's from Iceland, spoke perfect English, as most Scandinavians do. The horses were also Icelandic and the style of riding was more relaxed than English. After my trial class, I knew that this was my new hobby. I liked the horses, the other students, the proximity of the stable, and especially the instructor. Two weeks before Christmas, he tells me he's leaving and the riding school is closing, and now I'm back to where I started--searching for a stable and for courage.
