San Francisco’s Circus Center: A Swinging Good Time
And then I jump.
Think back to when you were a kid. Think back to the once a year when the circus came to town and you and your parents, or maybe your 3rd grade class, went to see the greatest show on earth. What do you remember?
The smell of the dry fairground grass. The more-scary-than-funny clowns with their overplayed reactions and clumsy choreography. The elephants being led slowly to the ring to stand on their heads. Lions and tigers and fire. (Oh my!) But the highlight, at least for me, always was the colorful acrobats on the flying trapeze.
I watched them closely. They moved a little differently than you or I. They were just moreâÂ?¦aware of themselves and where their bodies were in relation to everything around them. And it makes sense. When you’re flipping through the air two and a half stories above the ground, it’s a good idea to know where you are. I always wondered what it would be like to fly through the air with the greatest of ease.
So one Sunday morning, I wandered down to an old gymnasium near Golden Gate Park and into the Circus Center of San Francisco.
The Circus Center is a professional circus school that teaches everything from tumbling and Chinese acrobatics to contortion and trampoline. They even have the country’s only professional clown training program. But I was there to do just one thing: learn the flying trapeze.
I was met by my instructor for the day, Erick, who’s been teaching the trapeze for more than 10 years. He gave me a quick rundown of what we’d cover in the 90 minute class and I joined three other students in a quick stretch. After covering off the safety procedures, Erick took me to a stationary trapeze bar just out of arm’s reach. I learned to grab the bar properly, swing my legs up between my arms, and hang from my legs. It all seemed easy enough.
Doesn’t it always?
The next thing I know, I’m staring up a 20 foot ladder to a small platform where I’ll leap from. I’m not sure why I chalked my hands – I’d end up sweating it all off before I was even 5 rungs up. But it seemed reassuring in the same way talking nicely to a strange dog makes you think it won’t bite you. When I reached the top, another teacher helped me maneuver to the center of the platform. I was clipped into lines on both sides of my safety belt. Now here’s where things started to get strange.
The bar was pulled up towards me, but the catch is, I had to lean out with my entire body at about a 35 degree angle to reach it. To accomplish this without plummeting off this suddenly shrinking ledge, the instructor grabs hold of my safety belt from behind and leans backwards. New student’s tendencies are to bend at the waist, but in order to exit the platform properly, you have to lean with your whole body. It’s about as foreign of experience as you can imagine. Several million years of evolution is telling your brain “You do not have wings! You are going to fall and die!” And the rest of your brain is trying to be like Dr. Phil and convince you everything’s going to be all right.
Erick stood below to shout commands. He had explained earlier that the quicker I could do things as he yelled them, the better off I’d be. Frankly, I was just hoping I’d be able to hold on to the bar with palms as sweaty as an 7th grader going in for his first kiss.
“Ready!” Erick yelled. I bent my knees.
“Hut!” and I stepped off the platform.
As I swung forward and approached the apex of the swing, Erick yelled out “Legs up!” Somehow, despite the fact that my stomach was in my larynx, my brain processed that information and I curled my legs up and around the bar.
I swung backwards towards my takeoff platform. “Hands off!” I let go of the bar that was now firmly nestled in the crook of my knee and swung backwards. “Look up!” Erick instructed and I arched my back so I was looking forward.
“Hands back!” “Legs down!” “ReadyâÂ?¦Hut!” I let go without thinking, and fell into the springy net below.
Erick gave me a few more pointers and I went back to perfect that beginner routine. However, successive tries proved to be more problematic. At the end of the first swing as I tried to bring my legs through, my feet would catch on the bar, screwing up my timing and my momentum. I just couldn’t seem to get it. After a few more failed attempts, Erick had an idea.
“You’re going to try Hawk Style.”
I had no idea what Hawk Style was, but it sounded cool. (In reality, I’m sure it was just a cool-sounding name so as not to embarrass people like me who can’t even manage the most basic move.) Hawk Style involved me taking a narrow grip, then swinging my legs around the outside and hooking them over the bar. I got it down on the first try.
“Ok, are you ready for the catch?”
Not that I know this from first-hand experience, but I have the feeling that asking me that question is equivalent to asking “So, Neal, you ready to go walk around on the moon?” Of course I wasn’t ready. But that’s why I came to do. I mean really, would you still be reading this column if all I was doing was swinging from a bar by my knees?
I climbed the ladder once more, acutely aware of all 14,832,954 sweat glands in my fingertips. A third teacher climbed up to a trapeze across the room. He looked impossibly far away. Seriously. I thought I was missing something, because when both trapezes were at their closest it still seemed like there was a good 15 feet in between them.
I got into position – hanging out off the ledge had somehow started to feel normal by this point – and held into the bar. I tried to visualize everything I needed to do. Step off, legs up, hands off, arch back, make catch, release legsâÂ?¦I had no idea how this was going to go.
“We have one Hawk Style, with catch!” the teacher holding onto my belt yelled out.
“Ready!” the catcher on the opposing trapeze yelled out. I bent my knees and reminded myself to breathe.
It was probably 3 seconds, but seemed like 3 hours, before he yelled “Hut!”
And then I jumped.
My legs pulled up and wrapped around the bar. The commands didn’t seem to be coming as fast this time. Time slowed down. I was more comfortable. I let go with my hands and swung down, arching my back, looking forward, and reaching out towards the teacher. And suddenly, there he was. Right in front of me. Our hands locked around each others’ wrists and my legs uncurled from the bar.
I swung back and forth until the teacher called out “Hut!” again and I let go, falling into the net below. It felt good, actually experiencing something I had thought about such a long time ago. The second release and catch was just as smooth.
I left the Circus Center smiling, replaying that brief second over and over. There I was – two and a half stories off the ground. Acutely aware of where my body was in space. Not having to think, but just moving like those colorful acrobats from my childhood memories.
Editor’s note: The Circus Center of San Francisco offers a variety of classes and workshops for both non-professionals and professionals interested in circus arts. Check out their Website for more information on classes, schedules and prices.
