In which I finally make peace with my shoes

After my second week of ballet class, it came time for me to buy my shoes.  My teacher asked for my size and went one size up and the next week, I had my very first pair of pink leather ballet slippers.  Waiting for them to arrive was like waiting for Christmas.  No longer would I have to do the barre in my socks, I would look like the other girls, and I would be COMMITTED.  And I'll be honest, I have a think about having all the right kit.

When they arrived, instantly had them out of their bag, and slipping them on. The elastics were still to be sewn on when I arrived home, but something wasn't quite right.  They had quite a bit of extra room at the side near my pinky toes.  Even when I tightened the drawstring, nothing, they refused to take on that lovely rounded look that the other girls' shoes had.  Oh well, I thought, I'll get these home and get this elastics on and that will sort that right out.

Well, it didn't, and despite my attempts to tighten, tug and pull my toes up close to the top of the shoe, it just wasn't working.  And I'd come to blame my shoes for my unsteadiness.  I mean, come on, I know I'm new, but having shoes that felt too big were of no use to any one!

When I started my dance base class, my teacher required us to tuck in the drawstrings or just cut them off.  Being a good ballet student who wants to over achieve, I cut the cords.

Until tonight, when I noticed that the shoes were super loose and the drawstrings were no where to be found.  Grabbed the first shoe, dug them out and managed to tie them a wee bit tighter. Phew, onto the next one.

They were lost in the shoe and I went into distress.  I was phoning Jon, asking him when the dance store closed and omg I need new shoes by tomorrow, this a complete disaster, I hate my shoes, they're ruining my dancing and therefore my life.

Well, dance store isn't open at 7pm and I'm not going to get new shoes from my very favourite website by tomorrow for my other class.

So it came time to try and find the drawstrings.  Out come the scissors and I'm cutting into the shoes to try and dig them out.  Well, now I find them but my shoes are all cut open and looking like a right mess.

Armed with nothing more then a needle and some minty floss, I'm stitching them back together like a backwoods doctor.  They aren't pretty, but they are fixed.

Decided to go on a head and sew the strings down so I can never lose them again and when I slip on the shoes, they're perfect.

Nearly three months of hating my shoes, I try them on tonight after spending nearly 2 hours repairing them, and they fit like I had hoped they would.

I'm feeling very content, had to force myself to take them off, finally pleased with them.

Maybe they just wanted some love?

Screw You Twilight

Thus have passed my two favorite days of the week:  Thursday and Friday.

Thursday class with Dawn went well, I can't quite remember the centre work we did (the barre seems to have gone missing since Easter holidays, which is a bummer)  but I had a feeling of it clicking just right and keeping up with the arms/feet/head work and feeling very accomplished that I didn't have to stare at her and I could do my pretty ballerina look (which is more likely to look like me being confused and slightly constipated, but I feel pretty, and that's what counts)

We got our costumes for the show, which is a black sarong and for me some tan tights, as Dawn did me a solid and gave me some free tights, cause I'm only in the one dance.  Was slightly offended at first that she gave me large (don't call me fat!) tights, but upon getting home and trying them on, turns out I am a large ballerina and they fit like the sausage casings they are.

Our costumes were presented in a darling plastic bag with "I'm a star!" written across the front and with lovely name tag with the name of the dance you're in.  I felt like I was in elementary school again, and I tell ya friends, it felt good.  I mean, that's my bag, set aside for me.  That makes me feel good.

Anyway, I finally was able to discover the name of the song we're dancing to.  It's instrumental and for the life of me, I'd never heard it.  Was practicing the dance with Dawn's handy youtube videos and asked Jon what he thought the song was, also didn't have a scooby.  Well, my neat costume bag had "Jacob's Theme" on it, and I still didn't get it.

Got home just now, remembering that that was on my "to google" list and typed it in.  And lo and behold, it's from Twilight.  You know, those shitty vampire movies/books that make any one under the age of 16 all hot and bothered  (and if you're over 16 and those movies/books get your hot and bothered, you really ought to be ashamed, I'm just sayin')

I have desperately tried to avoid anything to do with Twilight as I found it irritating and frankly not worth my time.  Matter of fact, wasting too much on it now.  Needless to say, I'm a bit bummed, particularly as the dance immediately before mine is to Adelle's "To Make You Feel My Love" and I'm very jealous.  I've liked that song since Garth Brooks yo.

Oh well, I will dance away and then find a similarly paced song to dance that to in the future when I feel like doing more than just plies!

Wow, I rambled a bit there.  I think I shall leave today's class for another post (which will likely immediately follow this one, after I eat and have a cuppa).

Since I mentioned it

Wearing a leotard and tights bring a few things to your attention that you might not have otherwise considered.

Let us consider the humble bingo wing.

What is a bingo wing, you might ask?  A bingo wing, my friends, is a flabby under arm, named for a bingo hall and the old ladies that frequent them.

Standing in class first day in my new gear, digging my looking, feeling like an excited 6 year old kid with my pretty pink things and my floaty black skirt, stretched my arms out to second, checked the mirror to make sure everything is in the right spot, and there are my very own bingo wings, swaying in the breeze.

My Very Serious Ballet Face twisted into one of horror.  What is happening there?  I never noticed you quite so badly before!  Must you jiggle like that?  Seriously, stop!

Later that class, after recovering from that shock, was stretching out, feeling good, head nearly to the floor, feeling flexi, only to notice that Margie has not yet entered what we shall call "summer mode".

Pink tights hide nothing folks.

Thank christ the floaty black skirt does.

Core Meltdown

Despite having fairly solid legs and being rather flexible for someone my age and general activity level, my middle bit leaves me lacking.  Who knew that strong core muscles was so important for balance?  Certainly not me, but it sure explains my lack of coordination.

When I'm at the barre, I'm doing great.  Plie, revele, tendu, grande battement,  I'm on it.  It's once I let go of my lovely wooden lifeline that I start to tip and wobble and look decidedly unballerina like.

Sorta like one of those weeble wooble things you might have had as a kid, with the sand in the bottom.

I'm particularly worried about this as I have a show coming up in June.  It won't be particularly cute if I'm rocking the beginning of the dance in the first row then tip over to the discerning eye of random strangers.

Pilates and planks, here I come.  

And gotta learn to suck my gut in, leotards are none too forgiving!

Which reminds me of my bingo wing horror, but that's a tale for another day.

A Rather Mad Notion

Just about two months ago, I was reading my local newspaper, and an ad caught my eye.  It was for a dance school in Edinburgh about 10 minute walk from my house.  I did a little research and two days later, I was standing at my very first ballet class.

I didn't have any grand dreams as a child to be a ballerina and my dance experience is limited to about 6 weeks of Irish Step Dancing I took for the hell of it at college.  It just seemed like the right thing at the right time and here I am.

I'm not a likely candidate for a wannabe ballerina:  I am currently 5'0, 141lbs (smallest I've ever been, but definitely big for a ballerina), and 24 years old.  My feet have frequently been described as Flintstone feet and I have about as much grace and elegance as a manky sneaker.

But I loooove me some ballet.

I'm taking two different classes at the moment, one with my first teacher, Dawn, at the local school that meets up in church halls and with my newest teacher, Jonathan, which is held at Dancebase, a spectacular facility in the stunning Grassmarket area of Edinburgh.

I have no dreams of being a professional ballerina, that shipped sailed long before I even knew it was leaving.  But I would like to get reasonably good at it and one day go en pointe.

Until then, I shall flail, tip over, and murmur curse words at myself, cause that's called learning.