Belly-dancing class is getting crowded. All summer only three or four of us showed up regularly, now there are eight or ten. (The city in general starts up again come September--people come back from their dachas, kids go back to school, offices resume full-time hours, the language school fills up.)

Of the women who show up for class, I think the instructor and I are the youngest by 10 years. There are a few pairs of middle-aged women--my favorites are the two who crack each other up singing Shakira songs. It's a really friendly, laid-back bunch. I'm sort of surprised that it doesn't attract more supermodel dyevushkas (one girl with perfect hair, black leg-warmers, and impossible breasts came a few months ago and gave herself bedroom eyes in the floor-to-ceiling mirror the whole time, but she was definitely the exception).

The instructor's really good at reading who shows up that day, whether they've been coming for a while or it's their first time, and tweaking the lesson accordingly. (I'm pretty sure she just wings it every day, which makes me sort of jealous in terms of my own teaching). Every class, she goes over all the basics, spending more or less time depending on who's there, and throws in some new stuff towards the end. I'm getting to the point where I'm decent at a lot of the individual moves, but I wish I could put them together into a few minutes of something coherent.

It's a lot of fun, and I wish I had discovered it while I was still really running. All the tightness in my hips that was giving me fits through college cross-country has dissipated, plus it's a hell of an ab workout. When I don't feel like going for a run, sometimes I shut the door to my room and practice to ABBA.