Oops.

The Night Before the Storm...

After a two week hiatus, the school's workshop continues tomorrow, Tuesday, and Wednesday evening. For those two weeks in between I planned to continue building endurance at the gym, perhaps throw in some strengthening exercises. I was decently motivated, moderately consistent, but too busy to keep up with what I should have. And then disaster struck.

I am certain of one thing; there are thousands of Irish dancers that share this experience. Out at a bar with friends. Dancing around like goofballs. Someone throws in the lawnmower. Someone follows with the shopping cart. It rapidly becomes a game of "how white can you dance?" and suddenly you are being called upon to strut perhaps the whitest moves of all- Irish. Your smart voice tells you, take it easy. Your drunk voice tells you, I'M JEAN BUTLER!!! And then you hear a snap, and whichever part of your brain it belongs to, only one voice resonates. Shit. 

The injury itself isn't bad at all. Turns out my sister (soberly) twisted her ankle the exact same way a few months ago and offered a solid prognosis- I'd be fine to dance next week in sneakers but I need to stay off of it as much as possible.

Considering I spend most of my days on the move, this proved challenging. I was good about wearing sneakers, wrapping with an ace bandage, icing when possible and Advil-popping when I remembered to... I was not good about staying off it. Life can't stop because I was an overconfident drunk buffoon. Luckily the week was free of any workshop classes so I could focus on resting it as much as possible and working instead on my core with Ab Ripper X. I hate that guy.

And here I sit, the night before the return to the workshop. Tomorrow demonstrates who kept up with what we went over two weeks ago; who knows the steps, who has sat on the couch with an icepack on her foot. I'm going to participate (in sneakers) as much as possible, particularly with drills and strengthening. Not only can I not lose mental focus, I should be compensating for my physical inability by amping up my self-motivation and drilling the steps in my head.

I feel it's important to note here that my end goal has nothing to do with competition. The reasoning behind my intensity is this; I do not need to be a champion in Irish dance. I need to dance. I am happiest when I'm dancing- not just tapping around here and there, but actually in shape, motivated, and routinely going to class. Second nature. Sorry guys I can't on Saturday, I have dance. Oh, I have dance Tuesday, how about Wednesday? When it's a part of my life. And the thing with Irishstep is that it doesn't fit into your life when you want it. You have to fight for it. Very, very hard. Mental battles, physical pain and discomfort, and deeply rooted insecurity are amongst the top few obstacles I anticipate aside from the aggravatingly gradual process of building my stamina.

And so tomorrow we will see how it goes. One class at a time.