Back to class

Between the ages of 3 and 19 I danced a lot. Modern & Ballet (RAD & ISTD) to Advanced, Greek dance classes as a youngster; National medals, Jazz medals. Dance troupe in the pantomime, 3 local dance festivals a year in multiple categories, dancing school group dances, choreography competitions, school shows, Operatic society chorus dancing. I’ve got an entire photograph album full of ridiculous costumes and make up. I loved it. I lived for it.

I was well trained and a decent dancer but not brilliant. Not truly talented. Hard working and committed. In my teens my dance teacher once revealed to my mother that she considered me a “useful little dancer”. It’s testament to the esteem I held my teacher in at that time that I considered this high praise indeed even though what that translates to is really “not good enough”. Still, I liked choreography and teaching and might well have gone that way if I hadn’t realised I was better at words and books and such and gave up training altogether for a boozy and unimpressive university undergraduate career.

Still, as an adult I dabbled in classes at a studio in Camden and later at the Place but I never regained the discipline and dedication I’d shown as a child. I stopped dancing completely and tried just going to the gym but good grief that was dull and a slog and uninspiring. So I stopped exercising. Stress kept the weight off for a time. Then I got happier. Then I started to put weight on. Being sensible (being 30) I knew it was time for action.

Back to class.

Good training stays with you. It’s incredible. Your body still understands and still wants to do it, although, time and inactivity certainly stunts flexibility, strength and stamina! I first went to a beginners’ class to make sure I remembered everything I thought I did – and was chuffed to bits I did and worked hard and sweated lots. Next time I joined an elementary ballet class. A good choice, it was full of late 20 something women all clearly with decent training behind them at some point and a choice selection of dancewear; all quirky tights, leg warmers, all in ones, actual leotards & pink tights – man, I thought I’d seen the end of them! I felt decidedly underdressed in my trackys and vest. Still, it’s all good. Plies and tendues and battements and fondues and releves, retires, pirouettes, ports de bras, sautes and jetes and all that and more still exist in my body’s vocabulary. And I still love to do it.

The cramps are devestating though! More practice required. Now, if only I could recapture the discipline of youth and decline those Tuesday night drinking sessions and I might actually get there. I might get on pointe.