Where’s the beef?
Reserved (well not so much) Photo by Sandra Butel
I am Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk.
beautywalk is my superpower and I choose to use its promise to find beauty in the most unlikely of places.
Caution to the wind
My week started off last Sunday with the decision to do something I have never done before. I was given an assignment from my Unstrayed writing group to go out and check out something I don’t normally pay attention to and then to write about it. I was also invited to share some kind of memorabilia from the event with a fellow writer whose job was to do the same for me. What could be better for an out of the ordinary experience than to book myself a seat at the table for the first annual Verdun Mega Beef wrestling matches that were going to take place on the pedestrianized main street of my beloved new neighbourhood? I throw caution to the wind, deciding that this is a great opportunity to spend some time in a world with which I am unfamiliar and promising myself that whatever happens I will certainly be inspired to write something about this otherworldly experience.
The pre-show
The announcer’s voice rings out and immediately the energy inside me shifts gears. This is going to be a big show and his tone tells my body that it should prepare itself and get excited. My heart picks up speed in its pumping for what is to come, a little sideways grin on the left side of my face matching the smirk of the two couples that have joined me in our second level VIP seating. I am seated on a high stool along the two sided bar, legs dangling beneath me, not quite able to touch the ground, memories of childhood anticipation coming to greet me. I am regretting my choice to rock my long humidity induced voluminous hair with a colourful scarf jauntily tied around it. I am jealous of the various hats I see around me, pining for my straw fedora left on the hook by the front door. I wonder how the hell I am going to survive 2 hours of this summer heat, whose reflection off the light coloured surface on which I rest my notebook and my arms has been rendered even more sweat-inducing.
I turn my head softly from side to side, revelling in the light caress that my thick and wavy hair offers to the tops of my shoulders. Anything to lean into the enjoyment factor of being here in this moment in the precise body and head of hair I am in. All those years of having the neat as a pin pixie have resulted in so much delight at the pleasure that comes from playing with the let loose follicles that are flowing down to my shoulders from the top of my head. This is my time to embrace all of the opportunities that are being offered up on the daily, wide eyed new citizen that I am these days.
It’s official .. Photo by Sandra Butel
And now for something completely different
A smattering of conversation with two separate couples as they join me. I ask in my second language if they are big wrestling fans and they both chuckle and look down towards their hands citing a desire to do something completely different. I manage to mention that I forgot my sunscreen and sure enough a hand reaches out with some 50 SPF to offer my skin some protection. I slather it on over my face, carefully avoiding the top of my eyes, remembering the burn from last time and then turn my attention to covering up my tattoos gathered up on my left arm from my wrist up to my shoulder. I pause on each of the symbols that have been intentionally chosen to have their meanings etched into my skin. The bird with its reminder of my freedom to choose, the camera that recalls my late father, the “temptress in a tea cup,” that calls forth the essence of my mother and the twirling ribbon that ties it all together.
I am in good company, feeling cared for and connected, and I let them know that I am here on an “artist’s date”; to let myself experience something that my former self would have shrugged off as beneath me. I am here to do some creative research; to see what I can make of this display of bodies flipping bodies and pushing and pulling in their hip hugging costumes. My hand moves without pause as the words flow out of me faster than my wrist can take.
It’s hot. I am getting the lay of the land and still wonder what the hell I am doing here. “Seems bigger in the movies,” is the comment about the wrestling ring to the left of me. “How big do they need to be?” is the reply in a jokey, happy voice from partner to partner. A shared laugh and they tell me that they are on their way to Mexico to see the Luchadores Mexicanos and figured this would be a good way to prepare for the adventure.
Altered egos
The French Canadian announcer yells out “Douze minutes” and my nervous system is on guard for the start of the match. Already I have trickling sweat gathering in my short and sweet smart wool socks that are soon to be short and sweaty. The volume of the loud speaker is being gradually increased as the minutes to start time are counted down one by one. My backpack is piled up on my knees, my latest lined journal open in front of me; my uncharged laptop plugged in back at home in the relative cool. A blow up pink flamingo hangs above a Luchadora masked skeleton, bony feet planted on the melty pavement. This is not any ordinary day and not any ordinary occasion. Something big is about to happen here and I get the sense that we all know it.
The hype man is getting in his flow, and the chant of “Verdun Mega Beeeeef” is held long and deep as befits the occasion. The crowd cheers as he announces the start of the match and the first contestants. I miss their appearance onto the street as they file out the door of the restaurant and wine bar, Verdun Beach, that is the event’s main sponsor. I turn my head, just in time to see them gathered on the raised surface of the wrestling ring. The second contestant’s tights look strangely close to the ones I wear to yoga. I wonder if I could secretly be harbouring a wrestling queen inside of my middle aged white lady frame? What would my alter ego name be? What kind of costume would I wear as I took my place in the ring as part of the superhero crowd? I have the tights already so I would just need some kind of mask and maybe a cape flying behind me. Maybe my name could be Beautywalk Butel, there to stamp out all the ugly, hand raised in a v for victory?
Is my hair long enough to be considered? From the look of the two who are falling around inside the ring, a bad haircut with some long bits is part and parcel of this particular gig. I have to glance away from the action in the ring, my writer’s hand calling me to move it, move it like King Julien in Madagascar, knowing I am missing some of the action but am drawn to get it down on paper before the moment is gone.
The crowd holds its collective breath at the impact to come, wondering how in heaven’s name our new hero Jonny Taco will survive a heavy body being dropped on him from a height. At the last minute the villain shakes his head, changing his maneuver to a simple knee to the neck. The crowd cheers as Jonny miraculously manages to scrape his pancaked body off the floor and go on to have his right arm lifted up hand in hand with the referee in a declaration of victory. A sigh of relief waves through the crowd; once again good has conquered evil.
C’est pas gentil!
I am more ready for the second set of wrestlers and my heart thumps loudly as I catch a photo of the first competitor as he busts out of the restaurant doorway directly behind me. The big boobed, grumpy, long haired KC Austin shouts to the crowd to zip it as he claims to be the bad guy in this scene. The announcer calls on the crowd to sing all together on repeat, “C’est pas gentil!” How quickly we all join in, a part of the spectacle with our voices and our exclamations and our wanting it all to turn out just the way our childhood stories told it.
Hero cape flowing ... Photo by Sandra Butel
David and Goliath
I smell grilling meat and hear the sounds of hisses and boos from people who seem to have never raised their voices before; their hands up to their mouths to cover up their glee. It is a classic good versus evil matchup, the popular charming ‘little’ guy versus the sour faced small hearted big one. A flip onto the back for a show of force versus agility. A foot to the nuts in reply and clapping hands tell me that David got his own shot in on Goliath. Some reflex inside of me that goes deep can’t resist yelling out my “Bravo,” legs itching with the collective energy.
Un… deux… and then just before the dreaded three count comes out of the referee’s vocal chords a miracle happens. Once more we all believe that the small can be mighty; as they come back from where they have been thrown down to fight the good fight once again.
Buzzing
In my excitement I have failed to notice all the people that keep arriving, filling the street from sidewalk to sidewalk. Another two count and the crowd shouts out “Keven, Keven,” their hands clapping and voices rising. Ka Blam! As the little one drops down from up on high, KC’s hair flies free as the elastic holding back his light brown hair has given up the ghost somewhere along the way. Just before the 3rd slam of the referee’s hand onto the floor, Keven turns to the left and sets his right shoulder free. I join my compatriots and raise my arms along with my voice high up in the air as goosebumps flush from my unhatted head to my Hoka covered toes. The buzz is real and my body invites me to join the fun; easy smile stretching out my red flushed cheeks.
It’s so easy here to know who is the good guy and who is the bad. It is not like the real world where we can never be sure. How easy it is to pick up on the clues and to know when to clap and when to boo. The one with the cape and the green dyed beard is so obviously the hero of this highly orchestrated dance party. It is beauty versus the beast, the bad guys all greasy hair and untight abs and teeth blacked out once or twice. They flex their biceps but no muscles appear.
As I use my shirt to open up my second bottle of ice cold water, I wonder what makes someone choose to be a wrestling star? What came before this that led them to this moment? Was it a bit like me, a whim, a lark and then they found themselves pulled into its centrifugal force; unable to resist the promise of being reborn when they next find themselves on their ends under the ropes?
Bad ass bitch
The next two competitors are of the fairer sex and put a lot more work into their looks and their hygiene. The announcer shows his colours with a facelift kind of comment insinuating that the bad girl wrestler has provided some free plastic surgery to her opponent. Still a boy’s club after all. A hand to the back gives the sign that pain has been felt. Just the way my sore hip feels when I stand up after a car ride these days. The bad girl, Katrina Creed, wins and I am among the few that cheers and claps my hands. This world is hard and only the bad ass bitches who are sure of their own power have any hopes of surviving.
Arms open wide
The second half of Lutte Symmania’s main event opens up with a local favourite, an Italian from the neighbourhood against our first wrestler of colour. Everyone is yelling “sexy, sexy, sexy” as Sexy Chocolate is his name. Francis joins me now and my writing slows to be with him at the moment. We exclaim back and forth at the spectacle as he lets himself get swept up in the action. We smile and laugh together at the ridiculous electricity of the happenings around us, nodding our heads once again at how much we are grateful to be brand new adoptees of the “arrondissement de Verdun”. How quickly and completely we have been welcomed with open arms. How quickly and completely we have come to feel at home.
My seat mates call out as the match ends with screams and claps and shouts, “I don’t know what you are writing but I bet it is really good,” says the Mexico bound 1 of 2. A man who has been seated across the way with a female friend leans forward to say in broken English that he hopes this is not my first impression of Verdun and that I won’t hold this against them. I smile with my whole face and say, “No, no worries. I am here as an observer and I have enjoyed my experience getting to know the energy of the Mega Beef as they pranced and jumped and flipped in front of me.” We nod our goodbyes and Francis and I walk to where our bikes are locked up, him spinning the numbers and me turning the key, before we pedal off to cover the 6 minutes til we are back at our “Chez Nous”.
Bad ass bitch moment … Photo by Sandra Butel
Reflection
As I reflect on my experience a full week later I wonder to myself what this hot mess day has to teach me. I think about how much fun I had and how much I felt connected to the crowd around me. I got caught up in the hype and the miracles that would come just when things looked the bleakest. I put aside the snap judgments that could have closed the door to this experience, flung the windows open wide and let myself be pulled in.
I feel gratitude for the shift in my way of seeing the world these days. Opening up to something my old self would have scoffed at is always more revealing as well as being a hell of a lot more fun. That old closed mindset where things were bad or good and there was no greyness in between is as fake as the competition that was offered to me last Sunday. My new way of seeing the world isn’t always easy to hold onto but I understand now that this is where the joy is and that there is no nobler pursuit.
My late brother’s words echo lovingly inside my head, “Wrestling is real, Sandra, wrestling is real.”
I have to agree with him here.
This is Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk. What’s yours?
The last word is sexy … Photo by Sandra Butel
Pause for Reflection
How many times have you found yourself down for the count only to draw deep down into your reserves of hope and trust in yourself?
How many times have you gotten back on your feet after the world has slammed you face first into the mat?What new experience can you open yourself up to with curiosity and creative thinking as your guides?
What is one thing you could try today that might end up surprising and delighting you?
May you find little ways each day to let go of the ideas and judgments that are limiting your experiences.
With much love, beautywalk Butel.
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