Occupational Hazard

By Diane Gudat

Shin splints? Sure. Aching feet and back? Of course! But did I ever expect this as a dance teacher? Never!

Of late I have become increasingly concerned about my inability to deal with the some of the simplest situations. It seems to get worse from year to year and often centers on my dealings with the dance studio. I have friends and relatives who are around my age and they do not seem to exhibit the same troubling symptoms.

I don’t mean my obvious hearing loss, undoubtedly caused by working too close to the stereo speakers for 27 years, or my fading eyesight. (Hello, Apple? Do you make a large-print version of the iPod?) I have always felt it easier to deal with something once it has a name. So after receiving a clean bill of health from my physician, I set about finding an explanation for my predicament on my own.

I began to pay attention to other teachers at dance conventions and workshops. I don’t mean the cute young ones who still wear leotards or sweatpants with words across the seat and can actually turn and jump. I mean the seasoned guys and gals. The pros. The ones with at least 15 years under their dance belts. I noticed they had it too, or at least they were starting to display the symptoms. Right then I realized what it was—I was in the advanced stages of dance-mentia.

No doubt there are thousands of you out there who are suffering along with me. Here are some of the symptoms:

• You are careful to turn off the air conditioner/heater as you leave the studio and go to your car. You then return to the studio to turn off the air conditioner/heater.

• You worked hard all afternoon on a combination for your evening jazz class and put the notes next to your dance bag so you wouldn’t forget them. At 7:30 you realize you forgot both your dance bag and your notes.

 • Halfway through jazz class your feet are throbbing. You look down and see that you still have your tap shoes on.

• You have a staff meeting and inform the teachers that you would like them to get more organized. You announce that you have purchased new notebooks for each of their classes but that you didn’t bring them. The truth? You can’t find them.

• You have the wrong date printed on the front of the recital T-shirt. Upon closer inspection, you find that you have left your own name off the faculty list.

• You can no longer operate a five-disc CD player. Rather than figure out how to get the CD out of the deck, you burn a new one.

• You have bruised knuckles from slamming them into the windshield as you choreograph in the car on the way to class. You add those to the list of other bruises that you have no idea how you acquired.

• You are broke, yet you buy large quantities of plastic flowers in case you will need them for a costume some day. You lose the receipt.

• You get to the studio, start to unlock the door, and realize that it has been open all night. You race into the studio hoping that everything has been stolen so you can have the night off. Everything is there, including the purse you have been looking for all day.

• You go to the storage closet to get something and cannot stop thinking how nice it would be to put a cot in there to catch a little nap between classes.

• You have developed a severe aversion to wearing anything made of Lycra or Spandex, so you donate all such garments to the studio garage sale. Then, not recognizing them, you buy them back to cut up for costume pieces.

• You wear your recital T-shirt backwards and do not notice until 9:15. Now you know why Betsy giggled all the way through ballet barre. You try to put your hand in your pocket and realize your pants are backwards too.

• At the end of the day, all the students automatically begin looking for your keys while one calls your cell phone to help locate it.

• You continually call your non-dancing, sports-playing daughter’s practice a “rehearsal,” her uniform a “costume,” and her tryouts an “audition.” She has long since stopped correcting you.

• You truly think that your male dog might look cute in a tutu.

• You prepare a beautiful song and opening steps for what you think is a brand-new soloist. She arrives and sweetly hands you the CD and notes you gave her last week.

• You hold up some underwear that you found in the studio’s parking lot up and ask whose it is. Then you realize in horror that it is yours!

• Your guest artist asks for a bottle of water, so you immediately get it, open it, and proceed to drink it right in front of him.

If you recognize yourself here, you’re probably wondering if there is a cure. I hesitate to prescribe treatment, but here’s what has helped me.

• High doses of chocolate (the expensive kind) seem to slow down the progression.

• Late night “meetings” with other dance teachers, held in a dimly lit location while perched on high round stools, can numb some of the physical pain. Form a weekly support group.

• I’m not a big one for meditation, but any way you can improve your concentration might be helpful. Lists are helpful for me. I make them all the time—I just can’t find them!