Get in the box.

Remember that part in Tommy Boy where Chris Farley just lost his dad’s company and his girlfriend and got in a fight with David Spade?  And then he sat down on one end of the bench and the other end flipped up into the air?

“Could’ve done without that.”

My body issues and I are working Nutcracker this week.  120 small children and 11 professional ballet dancers.  I have the utmost, deepest respect for ballet dancers.  Seriously.  They are hard-working and dedicated and, holy crap, the finest athletes that I will ever personally meet.  They are awesome at taking care of their own needs in a way that opera will never ever, not in a million years, ever achieve.  My job is so freaking easy.  Seriously.  It makes me look good.  Professionally.

So I have to teach 2 separate herds of 9-12 year olds, no bigger than my kindergartener, how to move and manipulate these large scenic presents.  As in, large enough to hold 10 kids at a time.  Large.  They are toy soldiers coming out of a package to battle the rat king.  Best bit in the whole show as far as I’m concerned.  But in order to teach them, I have to fold myself in half, crouch down and talk them through it.  From behind the box.  And then partially in the box.  My knees creak.  My waistband digs into my bellybutton.  I can’t even pretend that it’s comfortable. 

I know they are children but still.

I know that the older dancers spend 6 hours a day on their feet.  Working.  But really, really working their bodies.  And have been for 15 years.  If I look at my last 15 years, it involved pregnancies, many years of nursing, afternoon naps, nutty bars, cocktails, comfort foods and sweet, creamy coffee drinks.

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where I went wrong.

3 thoughts on “Get in the box.

  1. But you wouldn’t trade the life you built and the wonderful memories and the brilliant future ahead of you and the Littles for anything… and that you love it all at least a million times more than they could love their ballet careers. Even if you’re a bit fluffier than the dancers.

  2. I admire professional athletes/dancers but I have a friend who was a professional athlete and she’s glad she did it but now her fifty-five year old body’s joints are paying for all that pounding in her younger years. Seeing the pain she’s enduring gives me a new perspective on all of this. I vote for moderation so when I’m old I won’t be in pain…

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