Adventures in Living!

on the path

Kira's dance recital was this past weekend. I had quite an opportunity to experience what my own Mom went though for years and years with me. I spent Friday night dropping Kira at the theater at the University of Richmond for her blocking and technical rehearsal. Let me tell you how hard it is to leave your child in a place like a huge theater, with all it's numerous rooms and corners and crannies....there was plenty of supervision for the younger kids, but I know how rehearsals can go and it only takes a second for someone to get misplaced. Kira was fine though, and she had a really good time watching the other dances.

Saturday was the big day, with a dress rehearsal starting at noon, a break for dinner around 3:30, then a 5:00 call for a 6:30 curtain. I ran her over to the theater and got her situated in the dressing room, made sure she had everything, and chatted with the dressing room ladies for a bit. When they called for warmup class to begin, she wanted to try it, even though it was for girls twice her age. I can't even describe how the sight of her onstage with the bigger girls made me feel,  attempting all the really difficult practice exercises, trying like mad to keep up with them all. My heart squeezed and I wanted to run up to her and tell her right then how incredibly proud I am of her.

Instead, I went home to make her dinner request (cheese sandwich, plain).

Then I drove back to the theater. After she ate dinner, I put up her hair, did her stage makeup, and helped her get dressed. Here she is with her friend from jazz class, Katherine....

Finally, it was time for me to run home and pick up my mom and her husband to come to the performance. It was wonderful to watch the show, and Kira was such a trooper, smiling the whole time, looking fabulous and doing a great job! She went at it like she was an old pro already! Afterward, there were hugs all around, even from her dad, who came down to see the show, and flowers from me and my mom. Here she is in her tutu....

And here I am with her, after the show. Ignore my lunch-lady arms and the ugly short-sleeve tan line.....

I am so proud of my wonderful daughter.

Tonight's ballet class was just....wow....just outstanding. I felt like I danced.  I felt just this much more like me. It was terrific. I was sweating buckets by the end, cheeks all red, out of breath, every muscle in my body felt like it had worked.

As is always after a good amount of physical work, I feel terribly alert. Not ready for bed.

I am getting closer to flying......closer to breathing.......

on ballet

My mind's eye never matches the reality before me. In ballet, it's all about exuding energy, grace and beauty,  while hiding the extreme effort. Calm and collected and gorgeous on the outside, working like mad to maintain the (de)lusion on the inside.

Tonight I realized how much muscle memory I have, and how little strength I truly possess. It's a bit frustrating to remember the feeling of the leg thrust high into the air a la seconde for a grande battement, or the energy from the turnout in passe during a pirouette revolution. These days, it's quite another matter to actually accomplish these things. My quads are screaming at me, and my ankles are on fire. My hips are still loose from childbearing and the loud thunk as they rotate in and around the socket during the battements and developpe is embarrassing and alarming.

The waistband of my (size extra huge) tights feels like it's going to cut me in half, and the resulting baby belly bulge just won't suck in like it used to.

We did small jumps today, a combination that I could do in my sleep with perfect timing and sharp, precise footwork...glissade-- jete, glissade -- jete, glissade --jete, pas de bourree, changement...I expected to feel light and strong....I felt like a black-clad hippo clunking along.

But I danced. I did. I went back.  Three times in four weeks, I've been at the barre.

My mind is racing with ways to trim the extra me off of my body, to find a way to unzip the fat coat I've got on and leave it off. The studio director wants me to come to a choreography and modern dance workshop in June, being taught by a woman with amazing credentials....I don't think I will be able to go, but the idea is incredible.

I think this ballet class is stirring my long-term memory. Things that must have been permanently coded into my brain from fifteen, sixteen years ago (has it really been sixteen or seventeen years?) are working their way to the surface.  Little by little, the choreography is coming back to me. Randomly, I find myself remembering bits of exercises and performance pieces I did in college, when I was young and thin and beautiful. I will be teaching this summer, and I need all the remembering I can get.

But right now, I need to go find the Tiger Balm for my ankles.

like breathing.....and carrying a fifty pound sack of cement......

All the way home from the ballet studio, I thought about my entry here and what I would say to describe my return to dance.

It's funny how the body remembers.

There were five of us in the small studio upstairs, and I purposely chose a spot at the barre where I was not really able to see myself in the mirror. I didn't want to see, I just wanted to dance.  The positions of the feet, my arms, the placement and inclination of my head, the accent of my fingers at the end of my arm held to the side -- all were easily remembered, easily done.  Halfway through the barre exercises, my achilles tendons were screaming at me, my calves hurt and I couldn't get my legs into fifth position because my thighs were in the way.

I thought holy crap, I'm only a half an hour into this class and already I 'm done for.

But I hung in there. I did eventually get a good look at myself in the mirror. It's funny how the brain remembers and expects certain things and it was a mild shock to see my reflection. What once was lean and muscular is now.....not so much. Very round. Round of hip, of shoulder, round of breast....like some ancient fertility statue or something....with a mysterious roll (of fat!!) appearing right above the waistband of my tights. I felt short. I wished I could take off my ballet slippers and dance barefoot.

I wish I could describe how it feels to be bound to yourself -- bound, like tied.  My joints and bones and muscles all tied together, bound down tightly, so tightly, wrapped in layers like some sort of myofascial mummy. I did not feel the usual space between my joints, my bones did not move easily in the sockets, and I felt rooted to the very floor I stood on. Heavy, like wet cement.

No flexibility, no freedom, no unbearable lightness of being. But was it fun? Yes. It felt familiar, like meeting someone again you knew long ago.

I recognize you. I remember you. It's so good to see you again.

I need to be kind to myself, to go slow and get there eventually instead of tomorrow. I need to stretch, go to the gym and work on my endurance, take a Pilates class and regain some of my lean, tall carriage. I need to practice yoga, and work on some strengthening. I may yet get back what's thirteen years gone.

But damn, I need to lose some weight.

like breathing

I went down to Carytown today, to Ellman's Dance Supply, and there I bought a pair of new, soft pink ballet slippers. It's been a while since I wore ballet shoes, so I had myself fitted, just in case my size had changed in the last 13 years (it had). Then I wandered around the store and chose a long sleeve black leotard and some black tights (not pink) and indulged myself in some soft, pretty burgundy knit legwarmers for my poor old ankles and shins.

There was a teen there buying a pair of new pointe shoes. The clerk was helping her, talking about the fit and the brand, and how they were different than her previous brand. The girl made some mention of how they hurt, and the clerk said, "Well, you're dancing on pointe, of course it hurts!"

I held the leotard up to myself, trying to gauge the fit and the size....deciding between a Large and an Extra Large...and finally just gave in and went and tried them on. Sadly, neither were the right size. I needed larger. Sigh. I forgot how tiny all the sizes are for dance clothing.  Same thing with the tights....What size do you need in tights?...size EXTRA BIG, please. I decided against a chiffon ballet skirt. Don't know if they are permitted in class, and frankly, don't want anything to accentuate my waist or my baby belly bulge.

I paid for my purchases, and the clerk wished me luck and happiness. Be easy on yourself, she said,  Be nice. It's amazing how the muscles remember, even after all these years.

The slippers are soft and comfortable - the way I remember them. I sewed on the elastic straps just the way I used to - high over the instep, across my ankle, and far back to the heel for support. I tested them in plie and releve and tendu in front of my small mirror in the sewing room. They fit. They feel vaguely familiar.

I put my dance bag together with my shoes and my first-aid kit and my legwarmers. I am ready, and tomorrow night I will see just how long it has been. I know I have no flexibility and no extensions to speak of. I know that an hour-long adult beginner ballet class is very likely to kick my fat ass, but I don't care. I just hope my achilles tendinitis does not flare up, and that I do not look too stupid. Or fat.

And I hope I enjoy it. It's been so long.

Dancing is like breathing.