My dance teacher has put me straight in at Silver Medal level despite having not done that medal test, nor indeed any of the three medal tests before that. As long as I do or am due to do that test before Blackpool in November, I’m allowed to compete.
I’ve bought a long flowy dress bedecked with a shit-tonne of crystals with matching gloves; I’ve practiced my makeup and hair … oh yeah, and my routines. I can just now, on the day, visualise them ~ it’s taken a long time to be able to do that, especially with my tango routine. As I’m meditating [to calm my nerves] before I dance, because that’s the only way I can control my nerves, I try to picture each step, foot and head position and transition; my hold; my weight; its distribution … everything, despite not knowing until seconds before whether I’ll be dancing tango or waltz.
I’m telling myself it’s just a “dance Social in a posh dress” – I warned Mariusz I was going to ask him for a dance to keep the “dance social” pretence up ~ and so I did.
Bless him for entertaining my idiosyncrasies on the day. And for making me laugh before we started to dance. And for training me so well. And for dealing with me during training so well ~ for being patient. And a few million things more, while keeping dance fun.
I danced, I think, pretty much to my capability at the minute – we only danced tango ~ there could have been more compression; my posture could have been more extended, but it was pretty ok. I didn’t come off the dance floor thinking I’d let myself down. It was only once I’d left the dance floor and sat down that I started to shake.
Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, I didn’t qualify for Blackpool i.e. In the top 6. That would have been quite a coup really. But I saw in the winner what’s required to make it to the top, which has given me even more focus. Whilst I wasn’t upset that I didn’t qualify this time, I definitely reserve the right to be next time. Which is in June. Which is two months away. With two new and as of now, much weaker dances. But bring on the quickstep and foxy-trot as I’m calling it. *This* is what my poor dance teacher has to put up with!