lidol: second chance
Every time, I decide I'm not going.
I turn the alarm off and decide it's not worth it. I'm tired. It's not worth it. There's no good reason for me to drive over an hour for ballet class, of all things. I'm not a ballerina. I think that was established conclusively by third grade, when I was kicked out of dance class for having an attitude problem. I thought this wasn't totally fair, since I would have had a better attitude if they could have made class less boring, but agreed with them on the main point. I didn't have a future in dance.
And that was that, for almost twenty years. Until, having moved to a new area and looking for exercise more interesting then the treadmill, I found myself in a pole dancing class. After a lifetime of thinking that I was the kind of person who was meant to be strong instead of graceful, I found something that made me wonder just why I couldn't be both. I wanted to get better. And that meant more classes and cross-training, from pull-ups to hip-hop to trapeze. And then, finally, to ballet.
I walked in knowing I would hate it, armed with the same sort of grim determination I bring on the rare occasions I decide I'm going to go jogging or drink a protein shake. There are things we do because we love them, and others we do because dammit, they're good for us. And the truth is, ballet will never be a thing that I love. It's too formal, too slow, too repetitive. I'm not overly comfortable with endlessly watching myself in the studio mirrors. More importantly, there's no thrill for me. Nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes when trying a new move offers the possibility of crash-landing onto the mat lined ground.
And still, surprisingly, I don't hate it. I admire the beauty of what the moves should look like, even if I'll never get it right. I find the repetition less meaningless the more I know what I'm doing. It's become a challenge, something I want to do just because I'm not sure if I can. Somehow, every time, after turning off the alarm and deciding there's no reason to go to class, I get up and do it anyway.
The score's been Ballet: 1, Jess: 0 for too long. I'm not going to forfeit the rematch that easily.
I turn the alarm off and decide it's not worth it. I'm tired. It's not worth it. There's no good reason for me to drive over an hour for ballet class, of all things. I'm not a ballerina. I think that was established conclusively by third grade, when I was kicked out of dance class for having an attitude problem. I thought this wasn't totally fair, since I would have had a better attitude if they could have made class less boring, but agreed with them on the main point. I didn't have a future in dance.
And that was that, for almost twenty years. Until, having moved to a new area and looking for exercise more interesting then the treadmill, I found myself in a pole dancing class. After a lifetime of thinking that I was the kind of person who was meant to be strong instead of graceful, I found something that made me wonder just why I couldn't be both. I wanted to get better. And that meant more classes and cross-training, from pull-ups to hip-hop to trapeze. And then, finally, to ballet.
I walked in knowing I would hate it, armed with the same sort of grim determination I bring on the rare occasions I decide I'm going to go jogging or drink a protein shake. There are things we do because we love them, and others we do because dammit, they're good for us. And the truth is, ballet will never be a thing that I love. It's too formal, too slow, too repetitive. I'm not overly comfortable with endlessly watching myself in the studio mirrors. More importantly, there's no thrill for me. Nothing like the adrenaline rush that comes when trying a new move offers the possibility of crash-landing onto the mat lined ground.
And still, surprisingly, I don't hate it. I admire the beauty of what the moves should look like, even if I'll never get it right. I find the repetition less meaningless the more I know what I'm doing. It's become a challenge, something I want to do just because I'm not sure if I can. Somehow, every time, after turning off the alarm and deciding there's no reason to go to class, I get up and do it anyway.
The score's been Ballet: 1, Jess: 0 for too long. I'm not going to forfeit the rematch that easily.