Went back to ballet this week.
And Gentle Reader, it’s a good thing too because I was weak! Weak, Bitches!
Happened to glance down during a sustained developé and saw my thigh, the one I was holding out in front at, like, eighty degrees, not just trembling but more like Jiggling Violently. Like a bowl-full-of-jelly! On amphetamines! Not attractive, you guys.
Maybe this is why we’re always being told to keep our heads up? So we don’t see The Horror?
The cranky ankle- oh, maybe I’ll call it The Crankle!
The Crankle is fine for walking and standing, but it doesn’t point fully just yet. It’s very distressing! And hilarious! To look in the mirror and see one foot doing nice pointed battements and the other doing, like, some kinda flexed square-dance maneuver, it’s pretty bad/funny!
Lead the left side of the barre in my second class back, with a couple new girls behind me, who perfectly mimicked my barely raised right heel while everyone else was in a full-on relevé. Poor things.
Got some advice from Smirnoff and Lé Assistant after class: alternate ice and heat for swelling, soak in epsome salts, wear shoes that lace, no flip-flops. Lé Assistant gave my red ballet-flat-style crocs the hairy eyeball. I’ve been given the go-ahead to do demi-pliés and elevés in parallel at home, but only to a mid-height. Aspirin, elevate. I assured them I would go home and sit and let my husband bring me things. Maybe I should get a little bell…
Was very disappointed though, Gentle Reader! Smirnoff did not prescribe vodka! Have we reached the limits of vodka’s cure-all abilities? Maybe I’ll just have a greyhound tonight, just to be safe.
Here you see Exhibit A: left ankle all pointified, Exhibit B: right ankle, not.