I jumped around a dance studio tonight. I went to one of the dancer rehearsals for "Samson" and got to step in for the missing soprano. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my pants and stepped onto the resin-rubbed wood. I didn't realize how long it'd been since I felt the oily grime that is a worn dance floor. I cracked my toes against the wood, slid my big toe in a rond de jambe, releved a couple of times.
It's funny how quickly habits come back. I jumped into an attitude turn and felt that familiar skin burn on the bottom of my foot. I stared at my port-de-bras in the mirror and thought back to days when putting on a leotard in the morning would have been normal preparation for a day at work.
The only difference is that all of my joints are stiff, my feet hurt after only 20 minutes on the floor, and I was approximately 25 pounds heavier than the heaviest of the dancers.
Memories of pirouettes, being flipped over someone's head, kartwheeling, developpeing, moving my body all over a space and not being afraid of the floor. Where did all of that go and how could it have disappeared so fast?
I love my new career but sometimes I miss the old one.
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