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Middle-Aged Moves

Damsel in Distress Rescued at Dance Fest

By Rochelle Lockridge

What's going on? I'm spending anywhere from ten to fifteen hours per week at the studio in group classes, private lessons, and private practice in preparation for the upcoming showcase. And that doesn't even include doing my "homework" watching dance video lessons online and re-living my private lessons on my iPad in the comfort of my own home. My passion/obsession with ballroom dancing is only getting worse, but not correspondently with my skill at execution. You'd think diving into the deep end like this would result in an ability to consistently perform a learned step, but noooo... not in my case.

The scientist in me keeps thinking if I just practiced enough, I'd get it and that would be that. You know, like learning calculus. Once you know the formula for calculating a derivative, you will always know how to find the slope of a line. But body learning at my age (or is it at any age?) seems to be a different beast. I can learn a step quickly in a lesson, but transferring and solidifying that knowledge to muscle memory so I can perform it routinely on the dance floor, is another story altogether.

A typical week for me lately looks something like this: I finish a private lesson. Feeling accomplished I go home and watch my video.(If you don't already tape your lessons, I'd highly recommend it to see what you're really doing on the dance floor.) It's quite a shocker to come eye to eye with the realization that the beauty and grace you feel on the inside is not necessarily what you are executing on the outside. Oh my, has that objective visual record been a game changer. My smooth, flowing West Coast swing style? cough, cough Not so much.

In my videoed lesson I notice quite a few things I'd like to fix with my cha-cha. Throughout the week I dutifully practice my basic steps and open breaks over and over and over again until I can do them in my sleep. I'm feeling proud of my dedication and results and can't wait to show off my skills. I'm this proud little girl, ready to show her new found talents for mommy and daddy on the living room stage; only to attend the next intermediate cha-cha group class and... wake-up call! "I don't know what the bleep I'm doing," begins all over again.

And this one's a real doozy. I attend a variety dance. Not only do I suddenly have trouble switching between dance styles, I can't for the life of me dance a decent foxtrot. And I'm not talking about any fancy International hereā€”just your basic social American smooth foxtrot. Somehow, over the last few weeks, I've mysteriously developed a penchant for pulling on my partner. I'm at a loss to understand why they keep stopping to adjust their frame to the left. At first I assume I'm not familiar with the step they are trying to lead. But upon further inquiry I am politely informed that I need to relax and that I am continually pulling them to one side. I'm mortified! The kind, unsolicited appraisal of my waltz technique as "light as a feather" at the last the variety dance was more like "heavy as an anvil" this week.

Needless to say, I've found myself in a discouraged funk more than I would like lately. So when Dance Fest showed up on my radar, "a low-cost, beginner-friendly DanceSport competition where new competitors can see what DanceSport is all about," it seemed a good place for me to spend my weekend. I'm a beginner. I'm friendly, and I want to see what an amateur competition looks like. Luckily for me, the organizers gladly accepted my last minute offer to volunteer, which made this low-cost event, a no-cost event. I was ready for some light to shine.

When I arrived at Dancers Studio early Saturday morning, I was given the job of verifying that every Dance Fest competitor, and spectator had the requisite glowing star stamped onto their hand before entering the event. I enjoyed greeting all of the excited, energetic college students, but that discouraged feeling from before remained just under the surface. Then it happened (cue dramatic music), walking through the door, back lit by the sun streaming through the window, the damsel in distress was rescued by a knight in shining black Under Armour. (Trumpet flourish). The coach of the U of MN Ballroom Dance Team strode up to my "door lady" post and asked if I'd be willing to dance the hustle in the Strictly Dance competition with one of his smiling, tall, and handsome college students named Tyler. I presumed his scheduled age-appropriate partner had been unable to perform, and I felt flattered to be asked to fill in at the last minute. But, I wasn't sure if I was qualified and hesitated. I had danced the hustle during the 70's disco era in high school and could hold my own on the variety dance floor, but what exactly was a Strictly Dance competition? They both confidently assured me I'd be fine. It would be lots of fun and nothing to worry about. (Eventually I learned this was a category that contains dances not included in the core four styles: Argentine tango, hustle, lindy hop, salsa, West Coast swing, etc.) I accepted their offer and Tyler said he'd find me later that afternoon, about ten minutes before the dance to see where our skill levels were and what kind of a connection we had.

Sure enough, ten minutes before heat 75: Open Hustle, Tyler arrives and escorts me to the practice room and we start dancing. Almost immediately, I sensed our connection and could easily follow his lead. When he tried a move or two I wasn't familiar with, I had him quickly teach me what he was expecting, so we could perform it on the dance floor. And we did! And with each successive round, Tyler would throw in a new move or two, and I was right there to follow his lead; only once did I slip and lose our hand connection. I was shocked when out of forty-five couples, we actually made it to the semi-finals. One of the three professional judges even ranked us for the finals round. Woo Hoo! That damsel in distress who walked through the door at the beginning of the weekend was nowhere to be found by late Sunday afternoon.

Even if the judges had given the plus-sized, middle-aged grandma, dancing with the tall handsome young university student a subjective boost in the scoring, I'll take it. We had a strong connection, were able to consistently dance the basics well with a few flourishes thrown in, and anyone could see how much fun we were having with one another. In answer to my opening question, I know what's going on, and why I spend the hours and hours practicing. I'm addicted to a strong connection, and having fun dancing with a partner on the ballroom dance floor.

"Thank this partner and find another for a...."

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