This morning I took my first ballet class in 4 months, surrounded by 3 of my very best friends. It wasn’t exactly “planned” to be just the 3 of us, but fate couldn’t have dealt me better company than this. We did our own little class (in which my legs never made it past 90 degrees), throwing jokes around between combinations and taking ample time to stretch after rond de jambes- which is like a cool stream of water on freshly burnt skin (ballet people, you know what I’m saying).
Although it was just a gentle baby step towards dancing full time again, standing at the barre this morning really made me feel whole again. Somewhere between pliés and grand battements, my hand wandered up to the bun on top of my head and I released an audible sigh. Finally, after so many days without dance, I exhaled the stress of this injured summer and let the determination of a new healing season fill my nostrils. And you know what? It smelled a lot like sweaty feet.