… Sort of.

I had a pretty bad asthma attack last night, so I felt iffy about class this morning.   I went anyway and chugged and wheezed my way through barre, then called it a day.   I am still learning my limits.

This was my first go at the Wednesday morning Intermediate Class.   We had a sub who was lovely, but because I’m horrible I’ve forgotten her name already.   o.O  

She gave us a challenging barre with penchés, fouettées*, pirouettes, and half-turns à la seconde.  Not to mention all. The.  Frappé.   Starbucks ain’t got nothin’ on us, you guys.

Having missed two freaking weeks of class, I was not what the cycling world would call “on form.”  My extensions were decent, but that’s about all I can say for myself.   My turnout was Meh, my legs felt pathetic, and I dropped my legwarmers in the toilet before class so I had to dispose of them 😦

They were cute, but they were just recycled sweater arms, so it’s not a huge financial loss or anything.   I think I’ll see about hitting up thrift stores for some stripey sweaters to make replacements. Maybe this time I’ll even make them the right width at the top so they’ll stay up!

Anyhow, so begins my new Ballet schedule: Claire on Monday, Brienne on Wednesday, Margie and Claire on Saturday until such time as I’m deemed worthy of advanced class.  Only next week there’s no class, so I will have to be Forever Alone with my ballet conditioning video workout next week.

Oh, also, we saw Nutcracker last weekend and I never posted my very-brief review, but I promise I will, you guys.   But you’ll appreciate this bit.

You can pick out the dancers in the audience because they’re the only ones who applaud when the corps does some crazy promenades.   Everyone what is like, “WTF, they’re not even jumping!”

Dancers be like, “Yusss, dat promenade!”

Notes
*These aren’t 32 Black Swan Fouettées — just the ones where you’re basically in arabesque and then an imaginary toe-eating beast grabs your extended toe and yanks it so you whip around to either face the imaginary toe-eating beast (if you were in arabesque arrière) or you whip around to not have to watch it eat your toe (if you were in arabesque avant**).   You know.   If you’re me.
**Or whatever you call that.