Day One

Inaccurate published date- I saved this as a draft a few weeks ago and forgot to post. Good start.

The First Class Back

The bottom of a cliff. It starts here. It matters much less to be out of shape today; everyone is, on their own level, out of shape. What matters is that I’m fully aware I will be sore the rest of the week into next, and I’m excited. I must stay motivated. Somehow, I am focused. I’m planning on dedicating a few nights out of my week to dance this year. I’m making myself think long term, because otherwise I will miss one class and feel like I'm already behind. And then another class, and I’ll wonder if it’s worth going again if I’m going to be so lost. And then months will pass and I will be pining for the feel of it again.

It helps also this year that it’s going to be a small workshop. Fewer young dancers gawking at me like I’m Cookie Monster and they’re Keebler Elves (... what?) and more time focusing on keeping my inner merciless critic at bay.

This time is different because I feel the same way I did back in 2006 heading back- I don’t have to be perfect. I admit I am at a disadvantage, and I have to work hard to overcome. It won’t be easy, or natural, or quick. It’s going to take sacrifice. It’s going to be humbling and it’s going to try my character. Will I give up when I haven’t exceeded my astronomical expectations of myself? Or will I get over myself and just dance.

Of course, late to the first class. Worse still, made my good friend late. A moment on the train- I should text her and tell her to go without me. I’ll be relieved, an insecure voice says. I can go home and sleep. I can avoid all of this failure I’m quite literally going to be watching in the mirror.

No. I must go through with this. The embarrassment of being late, the guilt of making my friend late. The whole class. I am going. My resolve strengthens. It will be okay.

The initial stretches hurt, but I’m proud of my balance and semblance of flexibility despite a sedentary summer. For the first time ever, I don’t shrink knowing I’m the biggest one in class. Or the slowest. The other girls are focused on their own progress, and if by chance they are watching me it will give them a reference for when I’m better and they can say, wow! She’s come a long way. For once, I am not embarrassed. I am determined. I am not perfect. And it is okay.

Small victories. I finish three of the four “Happy Hundreds”; 100 lifts in front hands behind head, 100 in back, 100 jumping jacks… and I could have done 100 seconds of jump rope but I would have peed the floor. I relish how much I’m shaking as we do balancing lunges in the back. “The more difficult it is, the more you need it.” Helen’s words spiral around my head and- though I’m going my own pace- I do not stop. I do not give up.

I’m glad to be learning the same hard shoe-soft shoe combination as my sister and my friend. My brain needs to become readjusted to the quick learning the championship class is The slip jig is beautiful and not terribly hard to pick up. I’ve yet to do the right and left foot consecutively but on the way home was already listening to slip jig music to mentally drill. The hornpipe is trickier. I don’t understand how it fits with the music, but I’ll figure it out on Thursday at the next class. My hard shoes are too tight and worn; they won’t support me if I try to go on my toes. Another disadvantage- now I’ll get over it. I’ll get new shoes in the upcoming months and be cursing the process of breaking them in.

Next class is Wednesday.