I went to the first dance rehearsal for Madison’s Rising yesterday.
I arrive to find a group of about two dozen women already shedding their coats and street shoes, limbering up before the mirrors, talking in twos and threes; a few I recognize. I confess that dance is the one thing I don’t do these days, but long for. My every movement is scripted—yoga, where the position of even your littlest toe is prescribed, or using equipment at the gym. Of course my spirit rises at the thought dancing!
But even here there’s a routine to learn. I get how cool it will look of a lot of us show up at the planned location ready to do this in perfect unison, so yes, I’ll learn this script too.
Phrase by phrase we work our way through what will become our 4-minute dance. None of us has heard the music yet. We learn names for some movements and how to transition from one to the next, adding onto the sequence. Laughing and fumbling, we warm to the task at hand.
Finally the music. Let’s dance! Four minutes is surprisingly long. Then, while we catch our collective breath, the questions. Like any political meeting, there are The Types. The over-verbal woman: “if I could just see it written out.” The overly astral woman: “I could like, feel all our energy, it was, like, wow.” And finally a chorus of, “Let’s just do it again.”
We do it again. Four minutes gets shorter. We shuffle our positions so those in the back get a chance to see the instructor. I try to make my muscles remember. We do it again and four minutes gets even shorter. I think I can do this.
So can you. Email Dianne at email@example.com for info–two more rehearsals are scheduled before Thursday’s 5pm flashmob at _____________. (Sorry, you’ll have to contact Dianne for details.)