Mask your sickness and your health
When I thought of my senior dance team experience at the sections and state competitions, I never imagined it going like this.
By Anna Pearson, reporter
I couldn’t remember the last time I peed the bed. As a 17-year-old girl, I was ashamed of what I woke up to at 3 a.m. on Feb. 8, 2020 in the Bloomington HolidayInn hotel room while sharing a bed with one of my best friends.
The previous week or so, I had been doped up on any sort of cold, sinus or flu medicine I could keep down. Staring at my reflection white as a sheet, I was horrified to find out at a doctor’s appointment I had lost five pounds in two weeks from sickness. Long before I discovered the magic of a Neti Pot, I was running on Mucinex, Acetaminophen and my own adrenaline.
Adrenaline, because I was at the HolidayInn staying the night before I competed at my senior year dance team sections. The Spring Lake Park Pantherettes, in the running for state once again.
The night before sections, our last practice was buzzing with conversation, nerves and the occasional sound of me rushing to my Kleenex box and blowing my nose. One last run-through of our dance before we headed upstairs to the carbo load of pasta, breadsticks and salad to devour. One last run-through before we said goodbye to our parents and loaded the bus to the hotel.
Or so we thought.
Our coaches, gathered at the front of the gym, had stern disappointed looks on their faces as they screamed at us to run the dance again. They needed to see more effort, kicks full-out and bigger facial expressions. In order to beat our rival team at sections, we had to be better.
I had cried plenty about dance team in the past– when my friends made varsity without me, when I was temporarily moved to an alternate for JV jazz or when drama circulating around the team got my friends and I into a fight. But never because of having to work so hard. Usually, I would get my butt into gear with no complaints, but I was tired, worn out and mad at the rest of my team. Why didn’t the team realize this was a full out run-through? We were supposed to work hard together, and now we’re suffering together.
I barely could breathe through one nostril while walking to class, and now I was being expected to push myself through three more minutes of excruciating cardio we like to call our Disney princess-themed kick dance.
“One Night Only,” from the Dreamgirls. Smile. “Good Girls,” by 5 Seconds of Summer. Breathe. “Bad Girls,” by M.I.A. and Rye Rye. Point your toes. “***Flawless,” by Beyoncé. Spot your turns. A trap remix of “When You Wish Upon a Star.” Pose.
Although distraught, I knew that I had to suck it up– I was always the one in practice who yelled at everyone else to kick their butts during drills. I was always the one who smiled big and bright during every run-through, no matter how tired I was that day. I put on a mask for one last run-through.
Forcing myself to use the last bit of energy I had left to run the dance, I then rushed to our team room where I knew my parents would be waiting.
I shoved myself into my mom’s arms, trying to catch my breath to tell her about the double run-through hell I just endured. Stepping away from the team, I sank to the floor along with my tears, and my mom did her best to console me.
“Are you sure you want to stay in the hotel?” she asked.
Yes. I wanted to spend the night with the team. Even if I was miserable, Fear of Missing Out was always worse. I had gotten through one last push at practice, so what’s one more push at sections tomorrow?
After the performance of a lifetime, I was proud yet terrified as I stumbled out of the Bloomington Kennedy High School gym the next day post-performance.
I couldn’t wait to see my parents, family and friends who came to watch, but the vomit in the pit of my stomach couldn’t wait either.
Finding the nearest garbage can, I began dry-heaving in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of onlookers who probably thought I just pushed too hard while competing.
Well, I had been putting my sick body to work all week long, and it had finally come to fruition. Although that garbage can stayed vomit-free, the toilet of my Embassy Suites Hilton hotel room a week later at the state competition was not so lucky.
The night of Feb. 15, 2020, before I competed in front of 16,645 audience members at the Target Center, I once again woke up in the dead hours of the night, but this time sleeping in between two of my friends in a king size bed.
I whipped the blanket off of their bodies and pushed myself out of bed, narrowly making it to the toilet.
Just a few hours later, the Pantherettes warmed up in the hallway behind section 223 of the stands, where our temporary dressing room was set up.
“Just wanted to let you know, I got sick last night,” I said to my coach. She looked concerned, but not surprised.
“Let me know if you need anything. Take it light on the snacks today,” she advised.
Exactly a month later, Mar. 15, 2020, the world shut down, and COVID-19 reigned. Grateful the dance team season was over before the lockdown, I missed out on my senior spring musical, senior prom and graduation. My “mystery cold” is now deemed as “the time I probably had COVID.”
Three years later, I go to dance practice as a JV coach for the Armstrong Dance Team. I would be astonished if any of my dancers pushed their bodies the way I did during the last two weeks of my senior season, in sickness or in health.
