I used to dance.
That’s not unusual in itself--plenty of people went to dance class when they were kids.
I didn’t just ‘go to dance class’. I trained. By my senior year of high school I was in a ballet studio a minimum of five out of seven days in the week for a minimum of four hours at a time. I wanted to go to college for dance. I knew I’d never be a performer, at least not professionally, but I was a decent choreographer and I could always teach, right? I applied to schools with well-renowned dance programs. I auditioned. I flaunted a track record of dedication and involvement and annual attendance at very expensive summer programs.
It wasn’t enough.
I was too weak in contemporary styles (Jazz was always my achilles heel) and I was coming from a very ‘small pond’. I had one other critical failing, and that was my body. I’m not talking about body image or stereotypes in the dance world--though those were certainly on the table--but a literal failing of my body to be able to cope with the constant strain of dancing. Trust me when I say that ballet is not normal. It forces your muscles and bones into movements and positions that permanently alter your physique. Practice means repetition, and those repetitions eventually create problems. Double all that unnatural nonsense with a body that was already prone to injury in certain areas and you have A Problem.
I have always been remarkably flexible in my hips and back. My mother looked through the pass-through from our kitchen to our living room once when I was three to find me watching TV in a full-blown straddle split. (Her thought at the time, I’ve been told, was, “Well...she’s not crying…?”) I was that kid who would do a ‘basket’ and you could tuck my heels around my chin. This was absolutely a boon to my dance career, but it came at a cost. The muscles around my lumbar region were shockingly weak and by the time I was twenty a light breeze could tweak my L5 and I’d be in serious pain. My left leg would take ‘unannounced vacations’ by simply deciding it didn’t want to be in its socket any more. In fact, the day of the dance department audition for UC Irvine my left leg pulled that trick as I was stretching (gently, even!) before we started the barre section of the ballet audition. It popped out, made a circle, and popped back in. I threw my back out (sadly not for the first time) by overcompensating for my hip all day.
I was a mess.
Even though I didn’t end up in a dance program in college, I did end up at UC Irvine in my second choice of major (Drama) which meant that I was able to take classes in the dance department, which I did. At the end of my sophomore year I had to admit that my body just couldn’t take the strain of ballet any more. Like, at all. Everything hurt, both physically and emotionally. Something I had loved for so long was no longer available to me. But it was stop or cripple myself, so I stopped. Thank goodness I had picked up tap during my freshman year, because at least I still had that.
Fast-forward however many years.
Tonight, I am going to go to an adult ballet class. This is not the first time I have undertaken this sort of endeavor in the past...oh geez, almost twelve years, but thanks to a hell of a lot of good chiropractic/physical therapy care I think I finally have the tools at my disposal to take this on again and not have to stop after a month because my body refuses to cooperate. It will be good for my physical health. It will be good for my mental health. And I will enjoy it a metric fuckton more than going to a horrible, smelly gym. On a related note, I’ll be trying their adult tap class tomorrow night, but I’m far less concerned about the effect on my old bones from that than from ballet.
I’m going to stop here for now and come back to this tomorrow for the thrilling conclusion of: Will Elizabeth Be Able to Walk, or Will She Actually Die?
***
January 31st, Thursday
That was...amazing. Harmonious. Refreshing. Liberating. Joyful. That felt right.
In the aftermath it has left a feeling of quiet confidence, and something I can’t quite put my finger on…
You know what? I think the word I’m looking for is “Ow”.
No comments:
Post a Comment