guys, i like to think i’m physically in shape. i don’t get winded going up stairs. i eat my oatmeal. take my vitamins. do my elliptical workouts whilst watching the discovery channel to stretch my brain and tone the thighs. and lift weights listening to katy perry to reverse that hour of discovery channel.
but an hour and a half of ballet?
holy crap. i almost collapsed in my snappy, little leotard.
and the fact that i misread “beginner/intermediate class” to mean beginner and not “this class will totally kick your @$$. bring tissues. and some pampers” didn’t help either.
but guys, i loved it. i loved every little minute of it. the realization that, holy crap i just did that exercise completely backwards. and oh man, why is this woman speaking to me in french? what is this gobbledigook she speaks of? the nearly running into walls and the fellow dancers during exercises? i loved it, even if the teacher spent half the time telling me corrections. i just loved it.
my thighs didn’t, of course. but that’s okay. eight year old me is perfectly appeased right now.
who cares if i’m the girl in the ballet class with two left feet when i’ve got a huge smile across my face?
slowly but surely i’m working down my list of things my eight year old self wanted me to do: go to second city? check. two weeks until i can recreate scenes from “the princess diaries?” future check. and now ballet classes? check-ity check with a side of check.
marry one of the guys from n’sync? i don’t quite know about that one. but then again, who knows. i know i can’t hit on lance, but jc chasez, if you’re reading this feel free to holla at a sister.
what did your eight year old self want to do? swim with dolphins? be a background dancer? eat a whole pizza by yourself in one sitting?!