Much to the surprise of everyone around me, though probably even more of a surprise to myself, right after writing Stalling Tactics, I went back to dance class. In fact, I’ve been to three now—only missing one when other commitments and a deadline got in the way.
I suppose it isn’t really accurate to say “back” since it is a different class with different people in a different studio (because the old class apparently doesn’t exist anymore). Still, in a way, it feels like going back to a place and a mindset I remember (at least vaguely).
Now let’s be brutally honest: I’m terrible. My balance is shot. I have no lift, so the whole jumping concept is completely lost on my feet. I was never good at turns, and I am certainly worse now. Weight gain over these last 8 years means my center of gravity is in an entirely different place. I’m literally getting to know my body again.
And it’s great.
It’s great despite the fact that during the first class I had to sit out for a water and breathing break 4 times in the hour and a half I was there.
It’s great despite the fact that my positional vertigo kicked in during the warm up, and I had to sort of roll while sitting cross legged off of the dancing space because I was too dizzy to stand up and move off the floor.
It’s great despite the fact that my brain cannot process that many things at once anymore, and weight transfers and movement connections are no longer second nature, making picking up combinations diabolically difficult.
It’s great despite the fact that after the first class, I couldn’t really move much for about 5 days. I couldn’t splay my toes for almost a week.
This all sounds fantastic doesn’t it?
But it was.
Because I’m moving again. I’m reconnecting with a part of me I resignedly assumed was gone. I’m terrible, and I’m almost okay with that. It’s a class with no outside judgment. It’s a class where the joy of trying is applauded.
And you know I only sat down 3 times during the second class… only twice in the third. I’m now able to do things the night after class without wishing for a heating pad and death (though, God bless Ibuprofen).
There may not be a lot of grace or technical skill in my repertoire at the moment, but there is joy in the doing. And for now, that’s all I need.