I Started Ballet As An Adult
Yes, with the tights and all.
I never thought I would have the guts to wear a leotard again. The last time I did that, I was eight and adorable; now I’m a thirtysomething with very bad knees, whose only reference to the ballet was Natalie Portman in Black Swan. Even so, one month ago, abandoning all pride and dignity, I faced the fear of ridicule -almost guaranteed- and entered a studio full of elegant and cute four-foot-tall ballerinas. Of course, I stood out like never before in front of the floor-to-ceiling- mirror. It was a free trial class, and I decided to give it my all. It was not an advanced class, so how hard could it be?
The next thing I knew, the teacher yelled some words in French while the girls moved their flexible and tight legs in a coordinated and graceful way. No idea what the words meant; I swear I kept hearing random food names: crème brûlée! paté! suflé! Then, the explanations came in my language, thank god: “I look towards my arm…” (which arm?), “I show the huge jewel on my chest…” (wait, what?), “Ribs closed! Butts in! Rotate those hips! Rotate more! Separate those femurs” (what the fuck does that mean?!).
There is no need to describe how I followed those instructions. You have imagined it perfectly well.
At one point, we had to sit on the floor, facing a wall with our legs open. The teacher pushed us toward the wall as much as our muscles allowed. The other girls took a deep breath and elegantly gave in while I cursed my ass off.
Punting it simply, as I heard once in a tv show: I was a chunk of spinach in the teeth of the universe.
Now, how the hell I ended up there, you might wonder. Well, my knees are responsible for that.
I went to the doctor a couple of months ago complaining about the pain, but mostly bout the horrible sound my knees make every time I take the stairs, sit down, get up, or… exist. Imagine I have two pepper grinders instead of ball joints. They sound exactly like that. So, after an X-Ray and magnetic resonance, he told me I had something called “Lateral Patellar Compression Syndrome.” That is a pain in the soft tissues of the knee caused, in my case, by the deterioration of the cartilage inside the kneecap. Or something like that.
Without calculating the consequences of his words, the doctor said: “You need to be like a ballerina.”
Say what?!
I instantly panicked, thinking, “fuck no. After years of struggling to liberate myself from the damage of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, I won’t starve myself to be skinny for medical prescription.” I was ready to get up and give the biggest -and best-improvised- speech defending women everywhere from the infiltration of diet culture in the medical sector. I was planning the first sentences of my monologue, describing how millions of girls’ body issues and traumas started with a doctor that oversimplified their problems as overweight. The only thing missing at that moment was an empowering song and a flag behind me -any flag, it doesn’t matter. It would work for every country on earth-. So, right before my big moment came, he turned around and said:
“You need very flexible and strong legs.”
“oh…”
Well… that would’ve been embarrassing.
He said I could do exercises like yoga or pilates, which I have practiced before. But I decided to take his words quite literally, and I signed up for ballet classes. I always thought ballet was beautiful, but I also thought I needed to be four to start, so I never tried.
Despite the failure of my first class, I signed up for a month anyway. Then, they told me they were opening a course for adult beginners. We were all equally clueless and started from the very beginning.
After a month of ballet classes, I can’t believe it took me so long to find it. Of course, I won’t be a professional dancer, but learning to be aware of the body, the posture, the movement, and the music, has been a wonderful discovery. Even if it brings attention to how disconnected from our bodies we can be.
When I practiced other exercises, such as pilates, there was always a part of me waiting for it to be over. “it has only been half an hour? How many planks can a person do?” Don’t get me wrong, it’s great exercise, but I was never excited to wear my workout clothes and get to class. It didn’t help that fitness classes are so focused on weight loss and that they are advertised from that angle. It made me feel like exercising was a chore that needed to be done instead of something to enjoy. Like cleaning the bathroom, you might say.
Now I’m doing an exercise that I genuinely like. The benefits it has for my health became a bonus, not the center. When I’m there, I’m not thinking of how many calories I have burned, my cartilages, my kneepad, or what time it is. I’m just having fun and learning something completely new—pure joy. This makes me wonder how many cool things I have rejected because I’m not four years old.
The mental and physical experience of wearing a leotard again… is a whole different article.
