Dance Fest as Told Through Differing Levels of Exhaustion

By Kaylee Anderson

Saturday, 8:00AM: Tired, nonverbal, but focused

I yank myself out of bed as soon as my first alarm goes off. Seven hours of sleep is decent, but as usual, I can't stop yawning. This makes doing my makeup a bit of a challenge, but it's nothing I can't handle. I slap my eyelashes on, grab my garment bag, and march out the front door. This is my first competition, and I am ready.

10:00AM: Relatively awake

I arrive at Dancers Studio earlier than expected and stake out some territory in the dressing room. Once I'm properly dressed, I spend some time yanking both of my partners' hair back into hard, glossy helmets, and then move on to the ballroom to scope out the area. Latin seems to be going well, and I silently rejoice in the fact that I was not obligated to show up at the buttcrack of dawn to get this show on the road. Tomorrow will not be the same case.

12:30PM: Fully conscious and ready to get this show on the road

I line up with my partner for the first heat of smooth, heart beating a bajillion times per minute and eyes the size of dinner plates. We make it out onto the floor and start our waltz, and lo and behold, my face starts to twitch. I curse my body's inevitable betrayal and do the best I can, trying not to be obvious how relieved I am when the song finishes. As soon as we make it to the exit, the first advice given to me is to look more awake. I sigh, inwardly knowing that it will take some work to make my face convey the level of excitement humming through my veins.

2:30PM: Awake

Everything is going better than I ever thought it would. My face has stopped twitching, my eyelashes are still on, and I have moved onto semifinals in most of the dances I've competed in. The adrenaline is real, I am pumped, and I am unstoppable.

5:00PM: Capital “T” tired, but thoroughly satisfied

The mixed proficiencies are gliding onto the floor, and I am heading in the opposite direction to change into my other outfit for the evening. I am still unable to believe that I placed in tango, but the ribbon in my hand won't let me forget it. I hear rumors of a group going over to Noodles and Company for dinner and instantly latch on, feeling beyond hungry. My feet are aching, and I keep trying to forget about the fact that we have Team Match to compete in before I can give up for the night.

9:00PM: My brain has convinced my body that everything is fine

It's completely dark outside and I am attempting to dance International waltz while every single one of the Dance Fest participants are cheering so loudly that my head is rattling. I am surrounded by walls and walls of nicely dressed human beings as they screech and clap, and it is now that I realize how much of a cult ballroom really is. When our turn has ended, I join in with the rest of them, daring myself to yawn in the face of all this energy. As tired as I am, it's easy for my brain to pretend nothing is wrong.

11:00PM: Complete and utter exhaustion

There is no more pretending. My legs have had it for the day, and I collapse onto the hardwood floor of my apartment, my roommate looking on in sympathy. I begin to undo the elaborate mass of braids on top of my head, and I follow up every bobby pin with a potato chip, trying desperately to replace all of the carbs I burned over the course of the day. I Google™ if it is acceptable to sleep in fake eyelashes, and the answer is a very hesitant “maybe.” That plan goes out the window when I wipe off my eyeshadow and the eyelashes go with it. When my face hits the sheets, I am instantly asleep.

Sunday, 5:30AM: Simultaneously conscious and unconscious

Four hours of sleep does not treat me well, and I drag a chair into the bathroom with my eyes still mostly closed. My limbs feel like they weigh a million pounds as I pull on my rhythm outfit, and the eyelashes do not go as well the second time around. I can already feel one of them peeling up as I walk to the train.

8:00AM: Eyelids taped open

Rounds have started for the day and I don't feel so great. My rhythm shoes are already causing me pain, so I plant myself on a bench near the on-deck hallway between every round I compete in. Four different people ask me if I am alright in the span of ten minutes, and each time my answer is “I'm tired.” Everyone seems to respond with an understanding nod before dropping the subject. They know; we all know. And yet the person who seems to be the most awake is the registrar, Rosemary, who I am 90% certain did not sleep at all.

12:00PM: Awake...ish

By noon I am functional, and my feet have gone numb so they really can't bother me anymore. The adrenaline from fighting my way up through the ranks in newcomer is keeping me conscious, and by the end of it all, I'm pretty happy with most everything. I've forgotten enough about my pitiful amount of sleep to make my day enjoyable, and I snack happily on my lunch as I watch the mixed proficiencies duke it out on the dance floor. “Go Kyle and Rachel,” I scream with my mouth half-full of cheese sandwich, excited to see my favorite redhead cutting a rug just a couple feet from me.

4:00PM: Brain-dead, but overjoyed International is finally over, and I hug my partner to pieces, so excited about all of the progress we've made just in these two days. “You've done amazing for your first competition,” he says excitedly, and I beam in response. I am finally in street clothes again, wearing a normal bra, and with significantly less makeup on than before. Everything has gone better than I ever could have expected to, but for me, the best is yet to come; a solid ten hours of uninterrupted, perfectly peaceful sleep.