Learning Ballet as an Adult Beginner: Part I

Nothing a little Wild Turkey 101 can't fix, I thought to myself as I took a double-shot of whiskey to celebrate. The occasion? A manini hike, in honor of me finally having scheduled my first physical therapy appointment for my injured knee.

Naturally, I found out the hard way that I was wrong about the whiskey. As soon as the Wild Turkey wore off, I noticed a debilitating pain shooting from my knee all the way up to my hip. I couldn't straighten my leg more than 70 degrees, and the injury ended up forcing me into a significant period of physical and personal rest over the course of four months.

In the past four months I've witnessed a rapid decrease in muscle mass, despite being consistent with my physical therapy exercises. Even though my knee isn't causing me pain anymore and I'm able to go on walks without taking a double-shot of Wild Turkey 101 first, I recognize that I'd be a liability if I went back on the mountain with limited range of motion and weak leg muscles. If I am ever to get back into search and rescue, I need to take serious time rehabbing from my injury.

With its emphasis on strong feet, ankles, knees, quads, and core, all built through slow, intentional body-weight movements, I'm hopeful that ballet will make me a more capable hiker than ever before. I'm also keen to observe the positive impact that ballet will have on my posture, flexibility, and footing, all of which are important for safe hiking.

As someone who considers herself an expert-level hiker, warm tears rolled down my cheeks as I questioned how long (if at all possible) it would take me to rehab my injury back to full strength. I found physical therapy to be a drag, and I dreaded the thought of entering a fluorescent-lit building (read: a gym) in the name of health and fitness.

Shit hurt, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil I was experiencing through the injury. Keen for a challenge and some novelty, I started looking into ballet.

I didn't even know what a plié was until my first ballet class. Forget about first, second, and fifth position or a tendu. Between all the new terminology, unfamiliar body movements, memorizing foot positions, trial-and-erroring with my own body, and working muscles I didn't know even existed, I'm confident that ballet will offer just as many mental challenges as physical challenges. I'm not a scientist, but I know there are plenty of studies out there that show learning a new skill may improve cognitive functioning, boost mood, promote neuroplasticity...that sort of shit.

As I pulled my hair back into a tight bun for my first ballet class, I noticed a tuft of hair shorter than the rest sticking up from the middle of my head. For the briefest moment, I thought about smoothing down the hair. I'm going to roll up to ballet looking like the love-child of Alfalfa and the fucking Friz, I thought to myself. But, nine months after developing autoimmune alopecia, I can't help but feel a spark of joy, gratitude, and hope for the hairs that are growing back. Sure, it may look like frizz or hair breakage to other people. But for me, the hair sticking up reminds me of the dark places I grew from. Just like seed that grows deepest in the places that are most empty, I too have grown from dark, empty spaces after enduring a personal winter over the past ten months. Before I noticed this hair tuft sticking up, I'd been saying to myself and those close to me that I've finally entered a metaphorical springtime season again in my life. This hair sticking up brings forth images of a seed that has finally started to sprout after a long period of uncertainty and blind trust in the process. No, don't smooth it down. This is a badge of honor, I concluded.

After going through a personal winter in which I felt emotionally and spiritually barren, the very fact that I feel confident enough to show up to a ballet class is a feat in and of itself. I'm eager to approach ballet as a container for my self-confidence and self-esteem to continue flourishing. The capacity for expression of emotion, grace, and beauty is something I've struggled to see in myself. Now that I've started to recognize that capacity in myself, I'm eager for my ballet journey to provide me with a playful, low-stakes container to keep getting to know the extent of this capacity that already exists within me.