Читать книгу Body of a Dancer - Renee D'Aoust - Страница 15

The spirit can be broken, but not from an aching body. The spirit is broken because often the dancer’s dream is unattainable. The dancer dreams of being a star. There are very few stars in the dance world. Very few. This realization dawns slowly.

And then the pain sets in. And the pain sets in deeper. And you keep dancing because you must, because you realize you are a gambler, and you realize if you cannot get that split fall just right you will never succeed at life. If your plié does not improve, and quick, you will fail in the world. Your center is working overtime, and you do not hear reason. There is no reason. Only movement. A certain psychosis takes over. You are willing to move and to move and to move.

So I moved in the dance studios of Martha Graham. I began contracting. The Graham contraction hollows out the abdomen so that it looks like a sail filled with air. The spine is the webbing of the sail and the legs are the ropes. I contracted.

I didn’t listen to reason. I ingested four Aleve tablets a day. I took Tums. I placed Chinese plasters over my lower back, rubbed Tiger Balm Extra Strength on my hips, took an Epsom salt bath every night, massaged my feet without oil—you want tough, hard skin—and wore sweatpants to bed even in summer.

I felt that my heart could encompass the sky because I was home in a dancer’s body. There was no place else I wanted to be.