Dance Fever vs. My Aging Reality

As I write this, I am contemplating filling up the bathtub with warm water and Epsom salts to soak in. And it is the NEXT. DAY.

Next day of what, you might ask? Yesterday, I went to dance class for the first time in over six years. When I was growing up, I was a dance fiend. Everywhere I went, all I did was dance. I danced for about 12 years, from elementary school to the end of high school when my dance school closed, and then 2 years in college. I then taught for two years and eight months, up until two weeks before I was due with my daughter, (no worries, it was safe) so close to 17 years in total.

My daughter is six now. I have not danced since then. I took two classes around when my daughter was 4, over at Broadway Dance Center in the city. It was advanced jazz, and I have to say, I completely held my own. And then, for some reason, I fell off. I don't know why, I just did. So when I decided to enroll my daughter in dance school, I noticed on their schedule that they had dance classes for adults as well. I thought about it...but it wasn't until I saw the recital DVD with the adults doing their contemporary piece that I went to the dance receptionist and said, "so about those adult dance classes..."

Yesterday was my first class. My daughter's classes were earlier in the morning and my class wasn't until later on that afternoon, so her and I killed time by going to the library and getting something to eat. When I went to get dressed for class, I immediately felt welcome and self conscious at the same time: welcome because the other students in the class with me were so openly welcoming and glad that I was there, and self conscious because I was completely out of shape. Sigh.

I saw what the teen contemporary class was doing, and when I looked at the teacher, I realized that I knew her! We had gone to dance school together back in the day...though she was older than me. She was my idol back then, too. That girl could DANCE. So I was glad I had decided to come...and then suddenly, it hit me. I knew what I was in for. She was about to go in. As if to confirm my thoughts, when I came in, she excused herself from the person she was talking to, gave me a big hug, and then said, "Welcome back. Good luck..."

As class started, I felt pretty confident about my ability to keep up with the class in spite of my years not having danced. And for the most part, I did. The thing that got to me so much was that I was used to just watching the move once and then immediately getting it and executing it right the first time. I have a slightly competitive nature and I don't like feeling like I don't know what I'm doing. Once or twice I was ashamed of my across the floor performance. (Across the floor, for my non dancers, is where the teacher shows you specific moves that must be executed across the floor.) There were times that I knew that the move that I was doing was not in the right sequence, or executed, just poorly. My body felt every move, every leap, every jump.

I have never had an issue with how I look - that is, I know that I am a big girl, always have been. Currently, I am bigger than I've ever been, and I still look good...but yesterday was the first day that I genuinely wished I was a size 9 again. I missed that dancer's body I had in high school yesterday. Sure, I never forgot the technique (if you were trained right, you never forgot) and no, I didn't do badly at all for my first time back, but I felt completely out of place and just...wrong.

But I'm going back next week. It's time to bring that body back...and it's time to get my dancer mojo back. I missed it. And I didn't know how much I missed it until I started leaping and jumping again. This time next year, I'm going to be a lean, mean, dancing chef machine.

Lemme just soak in some Epsom salts first, though...*groans*

Posted in: contemporary, dance, modern, nostalgia, school, size, weight