My Introduction to Crazy Land
I did it. I took the plunge. And I survived.
Barely.
When I say I survived I mean I was not driven to tears.
Barely.
I attended my first next level ballet class. To put things in perspective, this is the class one takes before one starts taking the class with company members in it. Company members. As in people that can leap over someone’s head.
I’m not really bragging because there is obviously a huge gap between class levels. I’m still taking normal people classes the other nights and I just don’t understand how they expect people to go from that to…crazy land.
And guess who teaches this class? Who else would teach the introduction to crazy land? The S.E.A.L.
And let me tell you, up until last night, my experience with the S.E.A.L. had been a cakewalk. She had been comparatively nice.
Not so last night. At all.
There was yelling ("AND ONE two three four. ENERGY. This needs to be SHARPER - MILITARISTIC!"). There was taunting ("This is an intermediate class. Do you think I’ll accept anything less than 90 degree legs? Do you?"). There were admonishing sighs ("Stop, stop. *Sigh.* Do it again."). There was an outright hissy fit ("Glissade-assemblé-jeté-jeté-etrechat-etrechat-pas-de-chat-pas-de-chat. Having trouble? Well, I can’t read your mind. Looking at me does not tell me anything. I can’t help you! Figure it out yourself.").
But I did it.
I didn’t fall down, I didn’t break anything, and I kept up (I started panting a third of the way through the class, but I kept up). Shoot, I didn’t even suck completely! So I’m going back for more.
This is going to be a long eight weeks.
