Post Class #1 roundup - I can't walk. Honestly, I wish I had someone to take a video of what I look like walking. Just imagine if someone took a bat to all the muscles in your legs and then left you to die. Maybe that's dramatic ... dancers are dramatic; I'm embracing all aspects of the dancers life.
Need tigers balm asap.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
WEEK ONE; CLASS ONE
I've spent months staring at class schedules. I even went as far as to post an inquiry on facebook to see if anyone wanted to dance with me ... turns out they did; turns out I still chickened out.
But today I did it. I went right in to that scary building and signed away my right to sue if I broke my ankle (probability: high)
A word to dance studios everywhere - why do you have to be so scary? Can't you make the real dancers gather somewhere else? Do I have to sit in the waiting room - dressed in yoga pants and a tank, with them - dressed in too cool for school hip hop gear and sick sneakers? If there's one thing I know it's that the sight of one sweat pant rolled up higher than the other can break me into hives. And yes, there was a hip hopper with a purse that looked like a boom box. Bam. Waiting room stereotype complete.
Class starts - instant nerves because its a 9pm Broadway style class aka loser class and there are only 4 of us. Turns out for the best though because teacher is funny and the other three are also mildly uncoordinated.
Shocker of the night - I can sort of pick up steps still. I read somewhere that learning choreography is good for the brain ... good to know I'm still with it in the noggin department.
Non shocker of the night - while my brain may be quick to learn and remember the steps, my body is horribly out of shape. I know what I'm supposed to be doing but my body won't do it, dammit. The feeling of a fast drop/lunge type thing to the ground feels like the rip that might accompany child birth.
Best feeling of the night - bare feet on the dance floor. Yes, I danced shoe less. I'm sure I will pay for this in the form of blisters tomorrow since my non-dancer feet are uncalloused. But hell to the wow does it feel good. It feels like how you're supposed to move - actuall
y feeling whatever it is you're stepping on to. It feels like the opposite of how I feel the rest of the day - staring at a computer or blackberry, eyes burning and headache forming.
Worst feeling of the night - I think the photo of my face will clue you in.
Week one of my 30th year down ... 52 more.
But today I did it. I went right in to that scary building and signed away my right to sue if I broke my ankle (probability: high)
A word to dance studios everywhere - why do you have to be so scary? Can't you make the real dancers gather somewhere else? Do I have to sit in the waiting room - dressed in yoga pants and a tank, with them - dressed in too cool for school hip hop gear and sick sneakers? If there's one thing I know it's that the sight of one sweat pant rolled up higher than the other can break me into hives. And yes, there was a hip hopper with a purse that looked like a boom box. Bam. Waiting room stereotype complete.
Class starts - instant nerves because its a 9pm Broadway style class aka loser class and there are only 4 of us. Turns out for the best though because teacher is funny and the other three are also mildly uncoordinated.
Shocker of the night - I can sort of pick up steps still. I read somewhere that learning choreography is good for the brain ... good to know I'm still with it in the noggin department.
Non shocker of the night - while my brain may be quick to learn and remember the steps, my body is horribly out of shape. I know what I'm supposed to be doing but my body won't do it, dammit. The feeling of a fast drop/lunge type thing to the ground feels like the rip that might accompany child birth.
Best feeling of the night - bare feet on the dance floor. Yes, I danced shoe less. I'm sure I will pay for this in the form of blisters tomorrow since my non-dancer feet are uncalloused. But hell to the wow does it feel good. It feels like how you're supposed to move - actuall
y feeling whatever it is you're stepping on to. It feels like the opposite of how I feel the rest of the day - staring at a computer or blackberry, eyes burning and headache forming.Worst feeling of the night - I think the photo of my face will clue you in.
Week one of my 30th year down ... 52 more.
Monday, November 1, 2010
MY 30TH BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO MYSELF
Once upon a time, in a magical fairytale world, I could dance.
And then ... well, then I went to college, moved away, got a job, became a big kid.
I took a few dance classes in college and then slowly, I stopped. It started to scare me. The mirror scared me, the other dancers scared me ... but mostly I scared me. I would look at dance studios online and then just freak out. Mostly, I was too busy trying to pay rent to be able to do something so obviously just for enjoyment.
To be honest, I was never a great dancer. I was never the kind of ballerina that could partner or the kind of hip hopper who could make your head spin ... but I could dance. I could follow along, I could pick up choreography ... and in my own way, look good.
I turn 3o th
is week. A couple months ago the one thing that I never really thought would happen before this age happened ... the C word. Again, to be honest, I always thought the word melanoma would at some point be stamped on my medical history. I have red hair and live in LA ... it was bound to creep up on me sometime. So here I am - turning 30 with a nasty scar healing on my leg. And you know what I want to use my leg for again?
DANCE. Dammit, I will learn to dance again. I will use my dumb cancer leg to pointe and flex and turn and leap. And by the time this scar fades to pale, I will be a dancer again.
And then ... well, then I went to college, moved away, got a job, became a big kid.
I took a few dance classes in college and then slowly, I stopped. It started to scare me. The mirror scared me, the other dancers scared me ... but mostly I scared me. I would look at dance studios online and then just freak out. Mostly, I was too busy trying to pay rent to be able to do something so obviously just for enjoyment.
To be honest, I was never a great dancer. I was never the kind of ballerina that could partner or the kind of hip hopper who could make your head spin ... but I could dance. I could follow along, I could pick up choreography ... and in my own way, look good.
I turn 3o th
is week. A couple months ago the one thing that I never really thought would happen before this age happened ... the C word. Again, to be honest, I always thought the word melanoma would at some point be stamped on my medical history. I have red hair and live in LA ... it was bound to creep up on me sometime. So here I am - turning 30 with a nasty scar healing on my leg. And you know what I want to use my leg for again?DANCE. Dammit, I will learn to dance again. I will use my dumb cancer leg to pointe and flex and turn and leap. And by the time this scar fades to pale, I will be a dancer again.
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