ballerina girl.

       Tonight I met a teenage girl outside the stage door.  She wanted to have her picture taken with me.  Without having to ask, I could tell that she was a dancer--a ballerina, to be specific.  She had long, opaque-blonde hair surrounding a pale face, willowy limbs, and was overall very thin and anemic-looking.  Yep, sounds about right--a ballerina.  And when I looked at her, I saw a younger version of me.  I saw the drive and hunger in her eyes to be something brilliant, something technical; something with feet that point for days and legs that lift to a height that isn't normal.  I remember that feeling of standing at the ballet barre and as I turned sideways, almost disappearing. Because that is what a tiny, skinny ballerina does.  I spent so many long moments looking at my reflection in those ever-present mirrors and just willing my butt to be absolutely flat. Because again, that is what a ballerina looks like.  I loved that halfway emaciated look, I think, because it meant dancing beautifully.  It meant being lifted effortlessly in a pas de deux, and floating over a stage that will never be the same because now, you have danced on it.  

      There is a saying among dancers, Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.  It's kind of sad, kind of sick, I know--but I totally understand where it comes from.  I think with my background, there will always be that skinny ballerina somewhere inside. Her hair is all slicked back into a tight bun, she's got ugly feet from years of pointe work, and she doesn't let me forget about the fact that pretty soon I will be wearing a leotard on a stage and do I really need that milkdud?  Most of the time I am pretty good at shutting her up (like this afternoon, when I had the whole box of milkduds, leotard or not), but sometimes I listen, cause sometimes she has a point.   I wouldn't let her hear me say that, though, since she is already pretty judgmental and pretty stuck-up...But, there was a time when she reigned supreme in my  life, about ten years ago.  

    I guess I had an eating disorder, but that makes it sound so psychological, not to mention so cliche for a white, middle-upper-class girl.  See, it was never about control for me.  It was never about fitting into a certain size or getting to a certain number on the scale.  No, it was purely about ballet.  I wanted to be a perfect ballerina; I wanted to be all bone and sinew and tendon while dancing to some long-ago written score.  It started out just because I wanted my partner to be able to lift me easily.  So, I started losing some weight and began getting compliments on my dancing.  And then it became so easy; I would skip dinner because I was at ballet class anyway and then go to bed on an empty stomach every night.  I can remember laying on my stomach, pushing and positioning my pillow underneath me to try to quell the hunger pangs. I still sleep on my stomach because of that time.  In the morning, the number on the scale would be just a little bit lower.   Looking at pictures of me back then, I can see what everyone was talking about when they said I looked too skinny.  It was gross.  Not pretty, not healthy, just real skinny.  But, boy did it feel good.

   I eventually started eating again, though.  To say it quickly, I went through this whole phase of having problems with my hips and then hating ballet and then deciding to go to the University of the Arts as a modern dancer and to show that I was really serious about this, cutting my hair off.  And somewhere during that time, I started eating dinner again and liking the feeling of having food in my stomach when I was trying to sleep.  I stopped weighing myself so religiously, thank God, and so I crept back up to a healthy weight.  It was kind of that simple.  

   And how am I now?  How much say does that old ballerina have in my life? Well, she certainly reminds me to get my exercise.  People think I am a little crazy for going to the gym between shows on double show days.  Like doing A Chorus Line twice in one day is going to give me stronger biceps (you never know when I will have to enter into another arm-wrestling competition; now that I won once, I have a rep to uphold, you know).  But the thing is, I really enjoy exercising--any kind of it, actually.  It makes me feel good.  Oh, and on the other hand, I am not shy when it comes to eating.  If someone is offering a slice of, say, cake, then I will usually not say no.  Unless it's tiramisu. Or anything to do with bananas...

  And you want to hear something exciting?  Well, Jackie Warner, the star of the reality show, Work Out (I think that is what it is called, anyway) is going to be giving our cast a private work-out at her gym next wednesday.  I am psyched.  I will be sure to let you know how it goes.  I have no idea if they are filming it or not, but secretly I hope they do.