The last time I attempted a handstand, it was the summer of 1997 and my arms buckled. I came round to the sight of a girlfriend trying and failing not to laugh at my misfortune. Handstands require strength, stamina, flexibility and balance, attributes I am unlikely to have developed in the intervening decades. Yet here I am, in a hand-balancing class, about to attempt a handstand.
We have already spent half an hour building up to the moment. The class had begun with a variety of stretches, as if that’s going to help. Then there was a plank, then a plank with your feet against the wall, then a plank with your feet walking up the wall and your arms walking towards the wall to a point where you’re as close to vertical as you can manage.
Some of my classmates got very close. I made about 60 degrees before the flashbacks started. I must have looked as if I wanted to leave, because the instructor came over to offer encouragement. I hate it when this happens.
Sammy Dinneen is a circus artist. He is as specifically impressive as you’d expect a man who has “made a career in handstands” to be. He looks more at ease on his hands than his feet. If these were medieval times, the villagers would have thrown him in the river long ago.
“You’ll be fine,” he says when the class partners off to begin wall-free handstanding. “I won’t let you fall.”
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I try to remember all the techniques he’s taught us — anchor leg, straight arm, lunge, kick. And then, bravely, I go for it and I’m up. Sammy is holding me like I’m a pre-iceberg Kate Winslet, but I don’t care. I’m handstanding. I’m young again.
“You weren’t straight,” says Sammy, unimpressed.
He holds his arm on a depressing diagonal. “Your brain is so worried about going all the way over, it makes you think you’re vertical when you aren’t. Try again.”
This time, I give it the full Cirque du Soleil. It feels as if I’m way, way past the vertical, but he’s right. It’s my chicken brain playing tricks. This time, I’m straight.
“Hold it for 15 seconds,” says Sammy. He counts the seconds very slowly. My shoulders, arms, hands, fingers and fingernails burn, but then it’s over. I feel elated. I could cry, but I don’t because it’s time to have another go.
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Four longer handstands later, I’m getting the hang of it. Sammy is holding me less like a doomed lover, more like a rapidly cooling third date. The fear is evaporating. By the end of the class, I can see why this is such an effective way to exercise. From now on, I shall be a regular handbalancer. By the time I get home, the rush of blood is over. I have a cup of tea instead.
urbankingsgym.com, £20; sammydinneen.com
