As a 32-year-old woman, it doesn’t come as a big shock that I’ve taken the next step in life. I have decided to become a ballerina…a real one. I looked up the oldest performing ballerina … 44 years old. Challenge accepted, I have 12 years to perfect my form, my technique; I am headed to the top!

To prepare for my first class I watched “A Ballerina’s Tale” on Netflix. This gave me a starting point for my career. That ballerina admitted to ordering a dozen donuts at a time during a dark point in her career, and finishing them all on her own in one sitting. My take away from this show was that I can, and should, eat all the donuts I want and I’ll still be an amazing ballerina. Flawless logic.

I learned many things in my first class. Until then I was unaware I had muscles in every part of my body, or that they would burn with the fire of a gajillion bonfires. I learned my lung capacity was nonexistent. Throughout the hour I hid the fact well that I was about to die by panting loudly and saying, “I’m about to die and my lungs are on fire!” This way, they had no way of knowing the agony I was going through.

I never knew I could burn so many calories practically standing still. If an outsider looked in they would think, “What’s going on? Are they ever going to actually do anything? Aren’t you so bored?” The answer to the last question is a resounding no. I’m not bored, I’m too busy trying not to pass out or fall over or cry.

I’ll tell you the move that had me wondering if I’d die that day. The teacher had everyone “simply” place a leg up on the bar while the other stayed on the floor. She was kind enough to let us use the lower bar. I swung my leg up to that low level bar with all the grace and dignity that a drunken bachelorette would have, if that drunken woman was attempting to hoist herself up onto a horse for the first time in her life. Basically, I held my own with a series of flails, grunts, and laughter.

I’d never had a foot up on a bar in my life, so I anticipated the foot that was up in the air would be the one to give me the most trouble. This couldn’t be further from the truth. The pain started out slow, much like a student driver merging onto a 65 mile an hour highway. But then … oh, but then … the burning sensation was unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life.

I wiggled and embarrassingly giggled as the veins in my neck popped out like a weight lifter in action. I tried to breathe, I prayed, I collapsed my foot to the floor in defeat.

Then we had to do this all over again on the other side!? At least my legs got evened out … which is very important in ballet.

There was a young girl in the class who had clearly taken ballet for years. I had so many things I wanted to tell her or ask her.

How … do … your … knees … fold … out … like … that? You are like the most graceful little frog I’ve ever seen. You are like an unhinged marionette doll with no ligaments. Where did you put your ligaments?

Happily at the end of the class we stretched. You know the stretches I mean, the ones where I am reaching with all my might and God and I know all the hard work I’m doing but everyone who can see me is wondering why I’m not participating in this particular portion of the class.

My favorite part was when the instructor had us sit up straight with our legs wide, which made me break into a sweat as I tried not to fall backwards. Then … in all seriousness she said, “Okay, stretch forward.” What? Weren’t we already doing that?

I would highly recommend anyone of any age giving ballet a try. Did I look like the worst ballerina on the planet? Yes. Did 6-year olds make me look sad in comparison? Yes. Did I love it and am I excited about my new career path? You bet!