One of these things is not like the others
Tuesday night was the first time I’ve been in a dance class since becoming pregnant. I used to dance all the time. I took regular classes, and also danced out at clubs with my friends. I’d say that between classes and social dancing I was moving to music at least three nights a week, and sometimes as much as five. Now, not so much. I’m a wife and a mother. I barely have time to pick up dinner from Boston Market. Fitting in dance class is hard, and the idea of going out clubbing is a joke.
I finally put my foot down and decided that dance classes are a necessity item, and I’d just have to find the time. I found a “Beginning Jazz” class that meets Tuesdays at 7:30PM. I’m beyond a Beginner level class in terms of experience and knowledge, but I figured that anything more advanced than that would kick my butt right now. I can barely pull off a grand plie at the moment, and pirouettes are out of the question with my usually fuzzy sense of gravity kicked even further off by the misplaced lumps of my post-partum body. The additional bonus of this particular class is that it is taught by Doug Yeuell. I’ve taken classes with him before and I know he truly believes in making dance accessible. That gave me a level of comfort that I really needed.
Some things the body never forgets. Executing a “kick ball change” is exactly like riding a bicycle. Once your body know, it just knows. All conscious thought turns off and you move. That is how most of dance is for me. I used to be amazed at how “real” dancers could memorize entire routines in the space of minutes, but at some point I started being able to do it too. So, at the end of the class when we have to memorize and perform a combination, I shine. I learn the combination right away, and it’s relatively easy for me, so I start having fun - adding little flairs - and really getting into it. That’s when I hear Doug placing us for the final “performance” of the combination. I have been put at the front. All of me. In leotard and leggings without even a decent cardigan to hide behind. And now my big body has got to dance on my really tiny feet. Big girl in leotard spinning on small feet equals elephants from Fantasia. Period. Not only can they all see me, they’re supposed to all see me. That’s why I’m in front.
I’m going to say that I was definitely the only person in that room who weighed over 120. And the crazy part is that while I’m sure other people noticed my size, I’m also sure that’s not all they saw.
But it’s all I saw. A room full of eels and one whale. I got sick to my stomach, but swallowed it back. Then I started to cry, and fought that back too. I’ve earned front of the room status. I wasn’t born knowing how to dance. I worked for that. But when I saw everyone looking at me, part of me was waiting for them to point and laugh. Then, instead of laughter, only beats, rhythm and movement. The room moving as one. With me at the front.