Ballet at 35
I turned 35 earlier this month and thought, “What better way to celebrate this semi-milestone birthday than to enroll in an adult ballet class?” Full disclosure: I also celebrated it with a nice, boozy party and lots of friends but that’s another story. I have wanted to take some local dance classes for years but for one reason or another have never really gotten around to it. So, on my 35th birthday I left my husband at home with our two young sons and headed off to class around the time that I would normally be getting ready for bed.
Ahead of time I wondered- will I be the oldest in the class? Will I fall on my face and completely embarrass myself? And more importantly: what DOES a woman of 35 who just gave birth 3 months ago look like in a leotard and pink tights??? Well, to that last point, I’m glad to say I still don’t know as I have yet to look in the mirror in my getup and the studio is mercifully devoid of mirrors, unlike the wall to wall, top to bottom mirrors of my youth.
The teacher told us she would go slowly since most of us hadn’t danced since December due to the Christmas break. This was worrying- it now seemed that I had joined a class that had been going for months with a small break for the holidays. The last time I shimmied up to a barre was 20 years and 30 lbs ago. I needn’t have worried. It transpired that this was a temporary teacher who clearly hadn’t been fully debriefed and didn’t realise that 95% of the class had never done ballet before and the other 5% were just like me- old, out of practice, slightly overweight, or all of the above. So we bumbled along laughing and enjoying ourselves for those 90 minutes, remembering the girls we once were.
Three weeks on and I look forward to my next class as soon as I leave the studio. Some interesting things happen with age- I used to find ballet fairly dull compared to jazz, tap and modern dance. Important for technique but generally something to just get through. Well, 20 years later I’m happy to report that I actually thoroughly enjoy the previously-tedious barre work, the painfully slow and controlled movements, the slightly boring music. It’s a joy to switch gears after a long day and lose myself in the world of jetes, plies and arabesques. The other interesting thing I found was that I didn’t care nearly as much about what I looked like as I did back in my teenage years when I was much smaller but much more concerned with appearance. Plus, I consoled myself with the fact that most of the women in the class probably didn’t give birth 3 months ago AND 19 month ago…
As I was waiting for the train after my first class it occurred to me that I could sit on the train station bench for the full 1.5 hours by myself instead of going to class and be perfectly content. The joy of walking out the door with a normal handbag, no nappies, no baby in tow is only surpassed by the joy of returning home to my husband watching the 10 o’clock news and two little boys sleeping (or not…)
She goes flying... 