Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Dance Log 3

So, before I go to my ballet class, I have a religion class in the institute building. The timing this semester worked out so that I have to leave my religion class early to barely make my ballet class on time. I hate leaving classes early, but this was the only way I could make my schedule work. Anyway. As I was getting ready for ballet (because I have to put on my dance clothes on under the outfit I wear to my institute class), I was running late. It was one of those days where I forgot one thing, then another thing, and before I knew it, I had about 3 minutes to drive, park, and get into my classroom.

Oh. And I really had to use the washroom.

But, since being on time was more important to me than the general comfort of my bladder, I just sat in class, learning about religion, and trying really hard not to think about the sound of dripping water. I'd hoped to leave a teensy bit earlier than usual so I could run to the bathroom (keep in mind that it takes dancers a little longer to pee, since they have to take off all the layers: coat, top, tank top, pants, leotard, tights; and then you have to put them all back on), but I ended up losing track of time, and before I knew it, I had to make the difficult choice between being late to ballet, or being supremely uncomfortable throughout the entire class.


It was almost like I didn't even have to think about it.
I rushed to ballet.

Logic screamed to me, "Alyssa! How do you expect to dance on a full bladder? How do you expect to be able to gracefully twirl around a room? How do you expect to suck in your lower abdomen, and point your toes?" I ignored the voice, and inwardly replied, "Don't worry about it, conscience. It'll be a little rough, but I'll manage to get through without having to interrupt the class by being tardy." Then the little voice in my head made a statement that made me wince a little, "Good luck during your jumping combination, then."
I thought to myself, "Yeow. That won't be fun at all."

But it was too late. I had already stepped into class, and was now taking off my "normal person" clothing, revealing the ballerina hiding underneath. I sort of feel like a super hero when I de-layer.

Normally there are about 20 of us in the ballet class, but there were only about 12 people. I felt proud of myself for not only showing up, but showing up on time. Throughout the class however, dancers kept showing up, later and later. They didn't so much as get a disapproving look from anyone (except me. Or- more specifically, my bladder). The more I saw them, the more I thought how nice it would have been to stop at the potty before I started. But I wasn't about to leave now, in the middle of class. We finished working at the barre, and moved to the center of the floor for our jumping combination.

I should never disregard the little voice in my head.
Especially on advice regarding the need to use the little girl's room.

Somehow I got through it, but you can bet your boots I was the first one out of the class, and into a stall.
It was a close call. And I mean close.

I guess I learned two lessons:
1- Be prepared. (ahem, get ready for class early enough to use the bathroom should an unexpected emergency occur)
2- Listen to the still small voice.

Over and out.

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