Happy Dancing Auntie

I've realized in the past few weeks that I've taken many dance classes, but I've never really been trained before. What I mean is, I haven't had anyone consistently teach me which muscles I should be using (or should not be using) to perform a particular step, and push me to perform steps in a particular way. I just sort of mimicked whatever my teacher was doing and when in doubt, I threw in some big arms to make it look fancy.

Now I have a teacher who is training me. He is my age(ish), so he is not impressed with my decrepitude. He sweetly ignores my whining and my belief that I can't do half of what he expects. He'll stand right in front of me and smile while he orders me to try. And damned if most of the time he isn't right. I hate that in a man.

Last night while I was doing my ronds de jambe, he corrected my foot position. It's a minor correction, but one that is hard to maintain and also keep the leg moving and my arms where they're supposed to be (hence the need for training). But here's the thing: he said "You have great turnout, and this looks even better."

You have great turnout. Gentle readers, do you have any idea how that made me feel? It made me feel awesome. I've been digging deep to find the little girl who danced so effortlessly and joyfully back in the day. Most of the time I feel more like one of the hippos in Fantasia.

I had assumed that at age 47, I would never get back the turnout in my legs and hips. I was wrong. I guess all the sur le cou de pied I've been doing while waiting for photocopies at work is paying off.