Ballet Is Making Me a Better Manager

My ballet journey, at the age of 61, is a story of perspiration and desperation. It all started when I was diagnosed at the age of 54 with 33% bone loss. As a gal with a desk job, I was overweight and out of shape. My schedule was jam-packed from 7:30 AM to 7:00 PM, and my office staff fed me most of my meals. I tried to walk 30 minutes a day, but I was fighting a losing battle of fattening food, large portions and too little activity.Let me share my story....

I still remember when my doctor looked over her glasses and stated, "You can either take these pills or get your body off the couch. You need to do something. You have osteoporosis. " The discussion is burned into my memory. It was a wake-up call.

At this time, my mother had just broken her second hip. As I sat with her in assisted living, I watched the people in her retirement center. I noticed that the patients that had been active, were enjoying their senior years; while those that had not, were struggling.

My mom never walked again. As my brilliant mother descended into the depths of Alzheimer's, we, as a family, gave up on physical therapy to help my mom walk. My mother gave up the will to live.

As I sat, day after day, with my mom, I knew that I needed to find the will deep inside my soul to push my body. I am not naturally athletic. I grew up in the mountains of West Virginia before Title IX. At that time, it was generally accepted that women did not need physical education. I swam a couple of times a week, but I lacked muscle tone. My body was weak.

So, I started cross-training. I hired a trainer. First it was Ashley and then Patty. We lifted weights twice a week. It hurt. I could not sit down for weeks because of the squats. Nothing came easily. Ashley pushed me to start running small triathlons. At the end of crossing the first finish line, I laid on the couch for 8 hours; but I was on my way.

When I moved to Philadelphia, I looked for a ballet class.My childhood dream was to be a ballerina. So, I found a studio (a good one is hard to find), and summoned the courage to walk through the door on a cold Monday night. My teacher's name is Beverly. She is a retired molecular biologist teaching ballet to a group of eclectic women. A taskmaster with brilliant red hair, she runs us through our paces at the bar. As we go through exercise after exercise, I am amazed. What looks easy never is.

I have taken ballet 4 to 6 times a week for the past year. The classes are 75 minutes long. Looking at yourself in a mirror in a black leotard for this duration is humbling. You feel naked, embarrassed, and alone. Dancing across the floor solo is also difficult. It is always a challenge of trying to make your mind translate movement that you understand intellectually into the physical. Frustration abounds...

Six months ago I pushed it to a new level. I started taking pointe classes. (The shoes look prettier than they feel on your feet.) I struggle. It is hard. I am a novice and a slow learner. Every step comes gradually, and my muscles ache after two hours.

At the end of the class I feel beat, and beat up. It is hard work and my progress is slow. So, as I stuff my gear into my bag, I shake my head, and question, "Why I am doing this? I am 61. I will never be a dancer..." However, I know in my gut that it is for health. I remember my doctor's warning. Intellectually, I am motivated that ballet is good for strength, balance and flexibility; but, my level of frustration at the end of a class is very high. I want to quit.

As I throw on my coat and toss my bag on my shoulder to walk home, Beverly smiles at me from her desk at the door and says, "Good work tonight! I know that you are working hard. Keep at it. You are getting better!"

When the door swings shut behind me, I smile. The breeze from the street usually blows my scarf into my face, but the words of encouragement stick with me. They make a difference. I struggle so hard, and the progress is so slow. While many things come to me quickly, ballet has remained elusive--an aspirational goal just outside of my reach. It is humbling....

On the nights that she gives me the gift of encouragement, I feel energy in my step. It has made such an impression on me that I try to point out something good in every one of my employees every day and thank them. I hate to admit, that for most of my life, things came easy to me. I was so driven and task oriented that it never occurred to me to stop and share words of encouragement freely, openly and with conviction.

...the feeling of how a few words makes me feel when I feel at rock bottom has made all the difference. Ballet is helping me to be a better manager. I give thanks....

<And, yes! I did reverse osteoporosis. Sometimes, we just need a lot of encouragement on the journey.>