Dance as sport

I promised I wouldn’t waste any more time trying to love running, but instead dedicate my exercise to something I love.  Dancing.  And because I sometimes have difficulty keeping my resolves and motivation, I decided to explore dance from a new angle.

Mainly a competitive one.

Those of you who know me in person know I love a good competition.  It’s not that I’m overly competitive in the sense of I have to win, but I want to know I gave it everything I’ve got and be proud of where I end up.  I knew I would never win a 5k before I ever signed up, but I wasn’t going to let the 80-year-old speedwalking women beat me after I’d been training for months!

Likewise, I don’t have any illusions I’m going to win my first competition, but I’ve been dancing for seven years now, and I want to know—I mean REALLY know whether I’m a good dancer or not.  Sure my teachers and the studio staff tell me I’m good, but they make a living on my choosing to return to the studio.  And I have a tendency to distrust the opinions of people with money involved.  (Just like I doubt the true intentions of the bartenders with whom I love a good flirt because I tip above the 10-13 percent that has become the average tip for service…I have thoughts on that too though…)

So I’ve agreed to sign up for my very first ever official competition.

Yes, I’ve danced exhibitions and performances a plenty, but this means I’m going to get a score, and be judged by people I’ve never met before on how well I dance compared to other dancers in my age category–well, those competing in Waltz, Foxtrot, Tango, Viennese Waltz, Rumba, Samba, East Coast Swing, Hustle, Cha Cha, and Mambo.

I have about a month left to prepare, but it’s caught me off guard lately to notice a remarkable shift in my dancing.  True, I’ve buckled down and really put some serious energy and time into it, but while I’m stretching and sweating and learning technique and routines, I’ve suddenly noticed I have no fear of the mirror.  I have no worries about what to do with my arms (except once when I almost clocked Justin—whose real name is Keith, a regular reader of my blog, one of the best people I know, who said it is quite alright to use his real name—with my elbow in a rapid turning sequence). I’m laughing a ton, flirting with the other students and even secretly hoping others are watching.

My feet match up when I step in Waltz and cross at the appropriate moments when we Viennese without my having to consciously make that happen.  My head turns out toward my elbow and down my extended leg when in Tango I corte without assistance from my mind.  And my butt pops out nicely in Betty Boop fashion when doing the travelling box step in Samba without my worrying about who’s behind me (last night I even hoped one gent WAS watching!)

Dance has become less of a study and more of a movement.

FINALLY!!!

And it’s infiltrated my life.  I come home and put on Ballet videos so I can stretch.  I feel taller and when I stand in line, no longer worrying about my posture, I can feel my feet firmly rooting into the ground as my frame aligns almost easily over my hips…ribs knitted, pelvis tipped, back straight, shoulders down and back, head pulled high.

It’s done interesting things for my stature too, in ways more than appearance.  At the end of a lesson in Viennese Waltz, my arms ached so badly for days, I considered typing on my keyboard with a pencil in my mouth. At the end of a Samba lesson, I discovered there were muscles on the sides of my hips (whew! I thought that was all fat and cushion) and boy were they hot and cranky for about a week.  At the end of a Rumba lesson, I finally understood what it meant to roll through your entire foot and how that helps slow down and distinguish the motions though my calf muscles are still not speaking to me.

I’ve even started turning my garage into a little dance studio so I have more room to practice turns and my routines.

And can I just divert for one minute to say I don’t think I want to buy my clothes anywhere but the dance store any more.  Dancewear is the most comfortable, moveable, flattering stuff I’ve ever draped over my body!

Only when Keith tells me about bowing do I begin to get nervous.  Why?  Because then I’m finished dancing and just waiting for judgement.

Okay, it doesn’t hurt that the competition is in NYC, that we’re travelling together as a large group, seeing Wicked on Broadway and having hair and makeup done professionally by a man who does so for some of the best dancers in the world, not to mention being in NYC with a great group of people with whom I’ve shared so much personal space on the dance floor here in Dayton.

But at the end of February, when I stand on that stage with unknown number of other couples and my name is announced, I intend to be just as serious and fierce and warriorlike as ever…just in a fun and flirtatious way.

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