After my two lessons this week I now realize how horrendously out of practice I am. Two weeks away from the studio for a beginning dancer is a serious recipe for failure. Before doing any lifts, I warned Pasha that all the Cadbury bars and black pudding I’d consumed in Blackpool had put serious pounds on me and when he frowned I pointed to my stomach, which has now developed a round little mass of pudge. Pasha is Russian (obviously) and thus given to brutal honesty, and he basically responded, oh that, that’s always been there… yes, everything is the same. Argh! I knew I didn’t have a completely flat stomach, but didn’t know it was that obvious… am beginning to think your dance partner knows your body better than anyone, including boyfriend… I also told Pasha about my toe, he asked if it was serious, I said no, just another stupid injury requiring yet more ice and Advil, and he shrugged his shoulders and said, we all live in pain; if it’s not falling off or cancer, you ignore it. Okay, am slowly learning the dancer way of life…
I’m really nervous about the upcoming performance though, because I seem to have forgotten: where my center is, how to spot, how to move my hips properly (without disconnecting them from my upper back and jutting them out too much) , can’t do a simple spin without wobbling all over myself . . . everything. And, I need to cancel my lesson next Wednesday with the immensely popular and hence impossible to re-book Pasha because I must go to ABT. Vladimir Malakhov is performing for practically the only time this season, and as I think he’s one of the two greatest male dancers in the world right now (the other being Jose Carreno, who is performing a splendid many times with ABT!), I must not miss it. I’ll just have to kill myself with ballet classes until October because, though it’s not Latin, ballet is ESSENTIAL to training in any kind of dance.
