Taking ballet lessons again has been interesting. I expected sore muscles. What I did not expect was having to face down my own ego every time I walk into the studio.
The committee in my head starts up immediately:
"You look like you've put on weight since last week."
"Check it out - your sixty-eight-year-old mother just showed up AND SHE'S WEARING YOUR WORKOUT OUTFIT! When did you start looking so old?"
"That wasn't a grande jete. That was more like a grande latte. A caramel-drenched grande latte oozing calories."
"You will never not suck because you are old and decrepit and your best years are long behind you."
"You need liposuction. Everywhere."
"Of course you're tired. YOU'RE TOO OLD FOR THIS!"
It goes on and on. It's no wonder I can't remember any of the combinations from one week to the next. There is not a lot of mental space left over for processing things like which direction the pirouette is supposed to turn if my left foot is forward. It's exhausting. And yes, I volunteer for it weekly.
This weekend, my back is very stiff and sore. I have no idea why and I can't get it to loosen up. You should hear what the committe has to say about THAT.