Just like Beyonce if Beyonce was white, middle-aged, minimally talented and had a bum knee.
I believe in doing one big, scary thing each year that pushes me as far outside of my comfort zone as possible. Over the years, this has taken me to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, my therapist’s couch, and to Dancing With The Stars. This year, my challenge unexpectedly landed me a spot with a hip hop dance crew. Allow me to explain (because this NEEDS some explanation):
About six months ago I was telling a group of friends how much I wanted to do hip hop dance, when one of them reminded me that I had been saying this FOR YEARS. I realized that she was right, and I signed up for a weekly hip hop dance class that very evening and walked into a dance studio for the first time in my life. My intent was to try something new, have fun and maybe get a bit of exercise. And for a few weeks, it was nothing more than that.
Then we started to learn a routine. It was really fun, and caused the class to shift out of what I’d classify as Zumba into more of what I was expecting. I was excited and eager to learn.
After a few weeks of progressing through the routine, our instructor (who has the patience of Job) started to place each member of the class into specific places in formations. I went from “I’m just a woman who is learning a hip hop routine” to “I now play a very specific role in this hip hop routine.”
It wasn’t until talk of competing began to surface that I realized I was in trouble: I was there just for fun. I had no intention of competing. But now my very presence, however shaky, was important to the overall group. I had crossed some sort of imaginary line and was now in it. I was officially a member of a hip hop dance crew. I justified this by deciding this would be my 2020 challenge and I could cross this off my list early in the year. I took a deep breath, iced my knee, and decided to roll with it.
Here is the progression of my experience:
I’m walking into a dance studio for the first time. This will be fun!
We’re learning a new routine. How exciting!
I’m being told exactly where to stand during formations. This is neat, but wait… I’m not serious about this. I wonder if I should say something (I don’t).
I think she may have just said that we’ll be competing in March. Ummmm… huh? Hold up.
I spend a weekend binging Beyonce’s Coachella performance for inspiration. How hard can this be? (The answer is very, very hard.)
I am told that I need to buy a specific kind of competition shoe. I do. And they hurt my back.
It is announced that not only are we competing ON STAGE in front of a packed auditorium in March, but there are judges who critique our performance. I sigh with resignation. Of course there are.
I am informed that there are microphones on the stage, so if we mess up, we are not supposed to swear because everyone in the auditorium will hear it. I acknowledge that there is an alarmingly strong possibility that I will do this.
It is announced that while performing our hip hop dance routine on a stage in front of a packed auditorium and judges, we will also be wearing costumes. I am smacked by the realization of how deeply I misunderstood the expectations here. I really just intended to try something new. But I can’t let the crew down.
I spend a week fervently searching for “red leopard print” clothing. This causes my browser history to look like I have a very specific fetish. I hope no one sees this.
I eagerly gobble up every minute of J-Lo and Shakira’s Superbowl halftime performance. They are both close to my age and I’m desperate for some validation that if they can do it, I can do it too. I can’t do that. Not even close.
We are told that we are expected to wear full stage makeup including false eyelashes, and this appears to be non-negotiable. I’m going to need a high-school girl to help me because I don’t even know what that is.
I get rid of “the cripplers” and buy a new pair of competition shoes that don’t cause me to walk like an old woman. I smirk because I now own 2 pairs of dance competition shoes.
We video ourselves and then watch it. This is when I realize that my facial expression when I dance is that of a stern librarian.
It is explained to me that dancers are entertainers and we are expected to pay attention to what our faces are doing while we perform. In fact, it’s 15% of our score. I begin practicing the transformation from stern librarian to inner Beyonce in my bathroom mirror. It is as weird as it sounds.
I repeatedly practice the routine in my basement under the cover of darkness. My desperation is escalating.
My husband has a work trip to Sun Valley, where the skiing is incredible. In an out-of-body experience, I hear myself decline “because I have dance.”
I’m not sure why, but I start practicing the routine in the shower. I am guessing it’s because the shower is private, but realize that this is also very dangerous and could just as likely be a definitive act of self sabotage.
I begin to cry a little because this is scary. My mantra becomes “being scared is healthy.” I’m not sure I’m buying it. But I still have 2 weeks and A LOT of progress can be made in 2 weeks, right?
So, I’m going to do it. In two weeks, this 46-year-old woman is going to pop and lock her way through a hip hop dance routine on stage in front of a packed auditorium while wearing a costume. I have no idea how these competitions work, but I understand that dance studios from several states are in attendance. I just hope my crew is friendly with the other crews, because I’ve seen enough movies to know that if there is a disagreement, the only way to solve it is with a dance battle. And at this point, I only know 1 routine.