Muscle Memory

It’s been a while since attending a ballet based class was a thing for the humans @theoldmortuary.

An exercise class called Barre enticed us in.

My previous ballet experience was in a mirror- less room at the Institute, Braintree so even the word Barre was a little bit exciting. Holding the Dado rail was the Essex way. Plymouth Ballet lessons were a lot posher for Hannah and involved lessons from Wayne Sleep and Bonnie Langford as well as mirrors and Barres.

As it turns out we didn’t touch the Barre.

The movements and language were a revelation. I had completely forgotten that French is the language of ballet.

The strange thing is that our bodies had not forgotten, effortlessly getting into the positions required before our brains had fully processed the command.

‘Effortlessly’ is slightly disengenuous, we didn’t turn into giddy, gauzy, whisps of women seemingly floating across the dance floor in a chiffon of pink. How I wish that were the case; but it was noticeable that none of the moves were unfamiliar to us and we threw in little ‘Jettes’ quite naturally and our ‘arabesques’ felt as beautiful as the word suggests. As with all things exercise there was a punchy soundtrack that encouraged movement and time keeping. The only downside to all this ballet nostalgia was the mirror, in keeping with its well-known cliche. It didn’t lie.

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