Oh, my poor broken body. My feet! My poor, blistered and battered feet!
Let's see... the last dance class I took was at an advanced level... two and a half years ago! So, you know, of course I would think that advanced was the way to go... two and a half years later!
Don't get me wrong. I wasn't horrible; I was still able to pick up the routine quickly enough, even adding a bit of advanced technique to the steps. But you could tell that I hadn't danced in a while, because I was a bit stiff, a bit creaky. There wasn't the flow that there used to be. Plus, you add half an hour of warming up, a forty-five minute advanced cha cha class, and a forty-five minute practice party in which I danced every single dance, and what do you get? Oh, my poor blistered, unpractised feet. My formerly broken leg is a little achy too, but it's not horribly painful, for which I'm thankful.
What was really strange though, was the immediate high that I didn't get. A glow of euphoria would wash over me as soon as I had spent more than 3 minutes moving skilfully to music in that studio. Sometimes, the 'skilful' part wasn't even a requisite. But last night... eh. I got twinges of it, but that's it, y'know? Nothing spectacular. Nothing that left the adrenaline coursing through my system, begging for more sway, for more groove, for more of that magic that commanded my feet to be exactly where they needed to be at the precise second they needed to be there.
This morning over breakfast, I mentioned the lack of high to my mother. She said, "Well, you're not going to get it every time, are you?" And I answered much to her surprise, "Yes, actually. I did used to get it every single time. Every class. Every dance." (Hell, I thought to myself. Why do you think I poured so much money into it?)
Funny thing though. Back when I was taking the lessons regularly, I was driving my teachers crazy trying to master something called an open twinkle. It's a beautiful step to watch, and relatively simple once you've mastered it, but absolute hell on earth when you're trying to learn the damn thing. The twinkle involves the male crossing his partner over from one arm to the other several times while continuing down the dance floor. The female - that's me! - Has an intricate pattern of steps that must be executed with each crossover, and each element of the pattern must be performed correctly, otherwise the whole manoeuvre looks clumsy and oafish instead of stylish and graceful. Last night, one of the teachers led it during a foxtrot, and I followed without even thinking. It's amazing what comes back, you know? Muscle memory... it actually is all it's cracked up to be!
I don't know. Maybe these next ten weeks will be what it takes to get what used to be an absolute obsession out of my system. As long as it doesn't take the love of dance away, I can live with that.
My mother thinks I use dance as a salve to the fact that I'm freakishly single. But that, poppets, is a whole 'nother entry!
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