Alliterative Reflections After Class

You know you're an adult ballet student/arthritic old lady when... you find yourself saying "you know what I'd really like for an anniversary present, honey? Compression socks"

After class last night a couple of people told me that I had improved a lot in the last couple of months. One of the compliment fairies (like tooth fairies? Only they bring you compliments instead of taking teeth?) was our perpetually perfect, pretty, and perky (puhpuhpuhpuh) teenager who always kicks all our old asses out there on the floor. It was nice but seemed really strange. I always feel a bit like the class I am in is the hardest class I have ever taken, you know? Like... maybe I'm getting worse. Or more tired. Or for some reason I just haven't got the mojo working this time. But then the next class comes along and I feel the EXACT SAME WAY. I think the rush of endorphins dulls your memory.

The Speed Of Light

The most challenging thing about this level three class is the speed at which we are supposed to do things. There isn't any time to think about what you are doing! I can do that annoying glissade/assemblé combination forward and in reverse, but only if I have enough time to get my brain around each step. Last night we started doing this crazy frappé thing at the barre, doubles. I can do it, sure. Physically, I can do it. But without the time required for my brain to catch up to my feet it's going to look like a hot mess.

On a different note: trying to do barre work with my left hand and wrist all bundled up in bandages kind of sucks. Nuff said.

One Of Those Days

So last night was one of those nights. You know the ones, where nothing works properly. And we got stuck with this fairly straight forward combination of glissades and assemblés (and if it includes the word "assemblé" then it can pretty much kiss my booty-bum in the first place. Every single movement made me hurt like it was going out of style), but then we switched to doing everything in reverse which screwed me up and I failed to complete a single one successfully even though she made us do them in sets of four THREE TIMES. BAH. Also, it didn't help that I got sandwiched against the wall standing uncomfortably close (like, not enough room for all of us to stand with our arms in second) to the two new girls in class, who honestly have no freakin' right to be in beginning ballet. If you have been taking class four days a week for 10 years then take your triple pirouettes and get outta my line of sight, bitches.
I mean "bitches" in the nicest possible way, of course.*
C'est la vie. As they say.
On a different note, I finally learned which "school" or "method" of ballet we are learning at my studio: Cecchetti. Not wildly unexpected, it's probably the most popular style in the US. I only found out when our teacher told us that Cecchetti looks for turned-out palms rather than the prettier (in my opinion) turned-down palms of Vaganova. Honestly, though, for adults I don't think it matters all that much. I still don't know what technique the first studio I went to teaches. They had a sort of strange third arm position.

* if you happen to be one of the new girls, don't take offense. Colorful metaphors in the name of artistic expression and all that. As I often say: if you've got it flaunt it. But, please... spare a moment to think about those of us with little to no natural coordination.