Pushing the Body

Belli has been dancing classical ballet for many years. It takes up much of her time. Ever since she got to middle school she has had to make a serious commitment to the dance because juggling her schedule has been challenging. She goes three times a week: Mondays, Fridays, and Saturdays for three to four hours each time. Too much for a 12-year-old, I think sometimes. But she loves it: the dance itself and her ballet family of extremely supportive classmates and and an excellent teacher and mentor. Her body looks for it; she doesn't feel good whenever she stops for extended periods in the summer. She cries each time we go out of town because it means missing her dance classes. It has been the bone of contention in the family because we have had to give way to her dancing. But this is how parental support is measured, I believe, when we have to have to make sacrifices as well.

Yesterday, she complained of pain in her legs (Belli never complains and when she does, I know it is at an advanced stage). I was worried because she had a class in the afternoon so I asked her if she wanted to call in sick. She said no; she was adamant. I questioned her decision, maybe even having said something like it was silly to dance in pain. She lectured me about pushing the body and discipline. It was like hearing myself talk four years ago. Didn't I give that very same speech to her when she was whining about having to go to ballet classes?

She wobbled when she walked and had trouble stretching her legs. I was in the brink of pulling rank and demanding her to stay home but that familiar inner voice whispered that I shouldn't. So I didn't. But I went with her to class and sat there for the entire three hours to make sure she was okay. And she was. She danced like her life depended on it, through the pain and the discomfort. I saw her grimace every so often. She was sweating bullets and gulped down water as though she were in the desert. I kept quiet in my corner fighting the instinct to take her home and nurse her in bed.

In between routines she bantered with her classmates and giggled with them. Over what? I couldn't hear. They egged each other on the floor and clapped for well-executed steps. They were a happy supportive bunch. But more than that they were hard workers, athletes all, who pushed their bodies to the edge, falling and tripping and pushing some more.

At the end of the three hours, they were spent but still smiling. I thought to myself, how could they do all this? We all know the answer.