Up in the air

Imagine this: A man balances a lawn mower, a running lawn mower, no less, on his chin.

That should be enough, right? Then he takes a cabbage and throws it into the blades. Not the easiest way to make coleslaw.

But it's a good trick. And if you're a juggler, that's part of what you care about.

Winston-Salem, the jugglers are coming.

The International Jugglers' Association's 62nd festival will get going this Saturday at venues throughout downtown. That means about 500 jugglers, professionals and amateurs, will be in town from July 13 to 19, taking and teaching workshops, competing and, basically, showing off.

Perhaps you'll notice them while you're waiting for a table at Mellow Mushroom or in line at Brew Nerds. They'll be the ones with the clubs, or the balls, whirling through the air as they pass the minutes before picking up their calzone or coffee. Makes checking your voice mail look a little lazy.

"Don't be surprised if you see people unicycling down the street either," said Mike Sullivan, the festival's director. "It's not unusual at all."

Many of the shows and events are open to the public, and some are free.

For jugglers, the festival's pinnacle may be the adult, junior and team championships at the end of the week, and the Cascade of Stars, with performances by such big-name jugglers as Florent LaStage and Michael Menes.

"For the vast majority of us, juggling is not something we do for performance, it's something we do for fun," Sullivan said. "It would be like going to a golf camp and sitting down next to Tiger Woods at breakfast."

But even for those of us without superior hand-eye coordination, one festival highlight may be Club Renegade, the racy nighttime shows at the Millennium Center that are akin to open mike and improv nights for jugglers. They're part physical comedy, part bawdy vaudeville, part performance art -- and a chance for jugglers to try out new stunts on one another.

It's where Sullivan remembers seeing that lawn-mower trick. It's also where he's seen a juggler balance a meat cleaver on his foot, toss it into the air and catch it on his head. Good thing there's a cash bar. The audience may need a drink or three.

"It's either too crazy, it's not perfected, or it's too risque or too zany to use on a regular audience," Sullivan said. "It's not always G-rated, that's for sure. There are really some unbelievable stunts and tricks that you won't see anywhere else."

Club Renegade is organized by juggler Keith Nelson, of the R-rated Bindlestiff Cirkus-fame. Nelson grew up in Winston-Salem and Davie County.

Day spectator passes to the convention, $7, give you access to the open gym, where jugglers will be practicing all week. "You'll see 15 or 20 people get together in different patterns, and they'll have clubs, and they'll be passing them in incredible patterns.… It'll look like chaos, but to them, they can see actually what's going on," said Len Ferman, a juggler from Jacksonville, Fla.

There aren't any acts using fire on the bill for this year's performances, but the program warns about use of accessories you probably won't usually see brought to conventions: "Please, no bowling balls, knives, machetes, spikes, pogo sticks or hard-wheeled toys on the carpeted space … please use the concrete floor space on the Lower Level."

Although it doesn't involve sharp objects, joggling -- running and juggling, and yes, at the same time -- is a sport that takes undeniable skill. The IJA's annual joggling competition, perhaps the only one in the world, will kick off at Hanes Park at 9 a.m. Tuesday. Think of it as a track meet, juggler-style.

Though it's hard to say joggling without smiling, Ferman takes it very seriously. "Joggling is a bad name," he said. "Joggling just sounds like you're jogging. I guess it sounded better than ruggling. Joggling has this jest-full, clownish name. I think that's part of the problem."

The clown analogy gets old fast, Ferman said. Juggling is not his day job -- he works in marketing for Bank of America -- but he makes a habit of juggling when he's waiting in line. Especially at airports, where there are lines aplenty. And then some wise guy will walk by, singing that familiar carnival jangle, "Thunder and Blazes" better known as, "doo-doo-dooti-doo-do, doo-doo-dooti-doo-do."

Ferman's a fierce competitor, though. A lifelong runner, he picked up joggling in 2006 after he and his son started to juggle as a hobby. It took about a year to get it down, but it's easier to convert runners to juggling than the other way around, he said.

While he's happier with shorter distances (he won the three-ball 800 and 1,600-meter races last year), he's run a 15 kilometer road race while juggling.

How many joggers can say they entertain while they pound the pavement?

"It's this full mind-body connection. All four limbs are doing something," Ferman said. "I do worry sometimes that I'm going to cause a car accident," he added.

Juggling is a natural motion for a runner, jogglers say, because you're taking the motion of pumping your arms and putting it to use.

The entire festival, Ferman said, "is kind of like a non-stop party for jugglers. Juggling is addictive. I always say that partially tongue-in-cheek, but I think it does something to your brain."