I definitely entered day two of the Ballet Intensive with a false sense of security. I felt pretty good throughout the day, but somewhere between leaving work for my hair appointment and getting out of the salon chair, my body decided it was going to tell me to go fuck myself.
I thought the 90 minutes of Ballet Technique with Kari at the beginning of the class would be similar to Monday, where we worked on proper technique, but no. It involved doing a bunch of ridiculous stuff that even my 16-year-old self would have sucked at. Top that with not having done it for years, being sore from the three hours dancing yesterday, and being out of shape in general . . .I think you see where I’m going here. We were also supposed to do a bunch of stuff in relevé (ha ha ha ha!), but my ankles were being all twingy. And for those of you who know about my history with ankle injuries . . .
We spent a considerable amount of time actually dancing compared to yesterday. As I said yesterday, a ballerina I am not, nor have I ever been. I was getting very frustrated because evertime the instructor gave us a combo, she would use ballet terms and mark it, and then tell us to do it across the floor, sometimes one person at a time. Okay, no. That doesn’t work for me. First of all, I had no idea what she even said. Second of all, every move she marked looked exactly the same. So I got to be the one who was like, “Can you show us that again?” every single time.
Now, I have no problem sucking at something new or something I was never good at to begin with; however, it is quite a strike against the ego to bomb something—multiple times if I may add—that I normally do quite well.
I usually have no problem doing a double pirouette. I can do a solid triple about 63% of the time. But my legs were so jellified from the night before and the time spent at the barre that I couldn’t even do a single. I couldn’t even fake it because nothing on my body was working. I couldn’t straighten my leg. I couldn’t get into full relevé . Core? What core? I suppose my neck was feeling all right, but I have to actually rotate before I can spot. And it didn’t help that all the turns were in the middle of some funky combination that had my brain all preoccupied and my feet all confused. It probably sounds like I’m whiny and making excused right now, but I can’t remember the last time I was that frustrated with myself. It took everything I had not to walk out, get in my car, and leave. Oh, and not to cry, because I really, really wanted to.
Next up was an hour of Classical Jazz with Colleen. At first I thought it would be Broadwayish, and when she said it would be more old school, I assumed it would be 70sish. I don’t know how to explain it, but the music was very jazzy, saxaphone, piano based (think Pink Panther). It was definitely interesting. At the very end we did a routine that was mostly floor based. It made me want to cry for a completely different reason. Between my sore muscles and my bruised and beaten body from doing a floor routine the night before, I thought I was going to die. Then I decided to cut the dramatics and power through it as best i could. I had to laugh each time I got on the ground. It was either that or start the waterworks, and I’m saving those tears for when I really need them.
The last half hour of the night we did Strengthening with Luke. Although we did stuff I’m used to doing (yoga, planks, side planks, crunches, push-ups, leg toning thingies), I found it quite difficult by the end of the evening to be able to do any of them. But Luke was very attractive, so that made it okay.