Dancing

I put the last piece of the puzzle of my former life into place last night, and I went to ballet class. Dance classes are the one thing that I truly missed this year, so it was great to put the tutu back on (I don't actually wear a tutu, but I like to pretend), which fit for the most part, and headed over to crash class.

I was pretty sure that the instructor would let me participate, as we've become friends over the past 5 years of me fumbling around in her class. (I never had any ballet when I was little, so when I took it up at age 30, it was definitely the hardest thing I had EVER done. While I certainly know more now than I did when I started, there are still MANY things I cannot do, and when she runs through a combination, I just chuckle to myself, knowing I'll be happy if I can remember the first 5 moves-- out of about 20... before we start over on the other leg.) I was greeted warmly, both by the teacher and by the ladies in the class, who happily told me they got my postcard from Paris (from the Opera/Ballet House).

I was a little anxious about taking class after a hiatus of a year plus, but I figured I had started from scratch once and survived, I could do it again, probably without the deer-in-the-headlights look this time. I was prepared for not having the flexibility or strength ("You want my leg at 90 degrees? I think 45 is plenty."), but I was surprised (I don't know why) that my coordination had disappeared as well. Double frappes (two quick taps of the toe to my ankle before pointing it out to the floor) were non-existent. A little jumping combination (which was always a bit dicey for me even in the best of times) had me just jumping up and down in place while others were going sideways and forwards and back. But the true kicker was when I attempted to turn across the floor.

Not having built all those spinning synapses when I was young, I've never been the best turner, but this was just comical. I managed about three turns across the floor, and promptly got out of line and went to the end, knowing that the girl behind me would run me over. Take two wasn't any prettier. Again about three spins, and all hell broke loose... or at least that's how it felt. There was no balance, no verticality, and certainly no spotting! I just laughed and flailed myself across the floor any way I could. But I made sure to put a nice ballerina "look at me" ending on it.

So I guess I am coming to the painful realization, once again, that I won't be a ballerina when I grow up. So sad. But I'll keep practicing and taking classes, just in case...