When Good Dancers Go Bad

April 1, 2013

It’s Spring Break! Well, for most of the public schools in the area it’s Spring Break. WMU had its Spring Break a while ago. And WMed, which we are repeatedly told to stress is a private medical school and therefore affiliated with but separate from WMU… Yeah, we don’t get Spring Break. The existence of our clinics supersedes our existence as a school.

What Spring Break means for me is that Connie is not sitting across the hall at work and my regular PT is in Montana (unless it was one of the Dakotas… no, I’m pretty sure she said Montana). The PT I saw today told me something that’s made me think. I, as usual, mentioned that I trained to be a ballet dancer. She told me that she sees a lot of former ballet dancers around my age (not that I consider myself “former” – I just haven’t trained in more years than I actually did train). I’ve reached the age that ballet dancers fall apart. All of the joints that we spent so much time stretching into perfect arabesques and grand jêtés start to rebel. Maybe that’s why my shoulder suddenly seized up on me. I know people don’t thing “strong arms” when then think of female ballet dancers, but we left no muscles unattended. Arms, shoulders, backs. When I was in training, I was five feet of muscle, sinew, and bone. (I’m still five feet tall. That’s too short to have a career as a ballet dancer.)

And there was a bit of magic at today’s PT appointment. I’m not sure what she did, but my arm melted into a position it hasn’t reached since, well, December. This bodes well for the future!

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