Lucy Martinez 9/6/16

Dr. Smith

Saved by Muscle Memory

December 5th 2011 I am backstage and my routine slips my mind. I am about to perform

my third ever solo. Everything I had worked so hard on had disappeared. The questions, Can

they skip me? Can I do it? began to pass through my head. All I had to do was to walk up on

that stage to find out exactly how my body was going to react to the music.

In late October I had finally passed all my tools. Tools were a set of 30 diverse dance

skills that we had to have perfectly displayed on tool days in order to have them crossed off by

our instructor Miss Angel. It was not easy to get passed Miss Angel because if it was not perfect

or we held the position for one second less than 8, then she did not count it.

Everybody dreaded tool days. We had to painfully stretch each other enable to pass a

few difficult flexibility tools such as the needle, parallel stretch, or hyper splits. I remember

finding a doorway to stretch my back for the needle. I would place my back against one side of

the doorway and bend down as I lifted one leg straight up to make a 6 o clock position with my

legs. Next, I would lift my torso up and place my hands on the opposite side of the doorway, my

torso and one lifted leg now making a U shape, and push my arms agains the doorway to stretch

my back and legs. Although this was painful, it was one of my favorite stretches to do because it

was invigorating and I could do it just about anywhere. Accomplishing the needle was only one

skill. Many dancers struggled with it because the back is a hard, painful area to stretch. When

showing my needle to Miss Angel, my entire face would turn red and I would nearly stop

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breathing. Pain would shoot through my body and I would feel feverish. All of this to have a solo

in the show because everyone wanted a solo.

I had begun learning my Latin Jazz solo in late October. This particular genre was a

challenge for me because I was stronger in slow contemporary dancing. The song for my solo

was Gotcha by DLG. It was a very high paced (hispanic) song. I had only about one month

before the annual Nutcracker/Solo show.

My rehearsals lasted one hour which was not much time considering the fact that I

retained choreography at snail speed, moreover, Latin Jazz. I can still hear my teacher Miss

Ingrids voice yelling Push Lucy! Harder! Sharper! Be sexy! The rehearsals felt long and

frustrating because I would mess up so many times. I am convinced that my memory is the

worst.

During my time at home, I would attempt to practice my solo. It was extremely

frustrating whenever my weak memory foiled me from practicing. As a result, half of my

rehearsals would consist of Miss Ingrid re-teaching me the choreography from the previous time.

The music would replay over and over until I would get it right. Some moves would come to me

and others not so much.

One day, my mom walked in on me almost in tears because I could not remember the

new part of my dance. I felt overwhelmed and like I couldnt do it. I was thinking of calling it all

off. She hugged me and told me, Lucy you can do it. You have been working so hard. The

deadline was approaching and it was becoming a problem that I would forget pieces of

choreography. Responsively, my mom suggested the idea of filming me for the remaining

practices. That may have been the best idea ever. For the rest of my practices, she would film me

in the end so that I could go home to watch and rehearse on my own time.

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 The day of the show has come. I start off the day by waking up early, eating breakfast,

and heading to the Marriott Hotel. Before leaving, I gather together what feels like 20 costumes

and my large makeup organizer. During the drive there, I am filled with excitement. I stare out

the window at the green trees with a blank mind. Spotting them clear from far away until they

rapidly pass the car in a blur. I observe the skys color gaining brightness as the morning sun

rises. It is a light orange color with a few cirrus clouds.

It is 9:30 A.M. Time for the run through. I present my Nutcracker ballet excerpts with

ease. I then accomplish my Latin Jazz solo as hard as I can while the lighting crew adjusts the

colors on stage. The lights are debilitating my eye sight prohibiting me from seeing my fellow

dance friends sitting in the audience.

After the entire show run-through, we have about two hours to rest, eat, prepare our

makeup, and to make any last minute adjustments to our costumes. I usually spend that time

trying to nap but it is unsuccessful because of all the chatter. While getting ready, we apply stage

makeup foundation, red blush, natural eyeshadow, eyeliner, and a lot of mascara. Dance moms

run around the brightly lit up dressing room assisting as many dancers as they can with hair and

makeup. The lights in the dressing room are the big classic round light bulbs that one might see

in old movies. During this time, my nerves are building up as I get the last minute texts from my

family saying, Good luck! Break a leg! We are sitting in row 3 on the left. We love you Lucy!

So excited!

The show begins and the music can be heard all the way from the dressing rooms. I wait

until my dances are called to lineup backstage. This year, I am a soldier and a candy cane in the

Nutcracker pieces. The soldier costume is covered in blue sequins which are itchy paired with

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white pants which we are required to wear over pink tights. The candy cane costume is a body

suit with slanted red and white stripes. I finish the graceful Nutcracker dances like nothing.

Eventually, it is the middle of the second act which means that it is almost time for my

Latin Jazz solo. It is about five numbers before my dance and I am in the room nearest the stage.

My heart was pounding as I was practicing the solo over and over. After a while, I felt like I

couldnt get to the end of the dance. Four more numbers until mine. I focused on exactly what I

was doing and realized that I kept repeating a set of movements over and over completely

forgetting what was next. The song played in my head as I tuned out the music blasting on stage.

Three more numbers until mine. The stage directors call me backstage. I began to worry a lot

because an entire section of the dance no longer existed in my brain. Two more numbers. My

solo, which was running through my head, ceases to exist. My mind is blank and my nerves are

in panic mode. I speak to Candace, a dance teacher backstage and tell her that I completely

forgot my dance. I ask if I can move the dance or if my choreographer can come backstage. She

tells me, Relax. Take deep breaths. In addition to that, I begin to pray. One dance until mine. I

ask Candace, What do I do? She replies, Just dance. If you forget something, improvise. I

am weak, my head is pounding, and I am on the verge of breaking down.

The stage goes black, which is my cue to go on. Gotcha plays and my body, God

willingly, begins producing the correct movements. After the initial shock of the blinding stage

lights, my eyes adjust and I am able to spot my choreographer, Miss Ingrid smiling back at me.

Her encouragement and positive reinforcement supports me on stage. She is the only person I

can see. I am smiling in disbelief at the fact that my body is moving faster than my brain can

think of what to do next. This is a prime example of muscle memory. All my hours of practicing

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had payed off. After giving it my all, I walk down the steps off stage once again weak and

trembling. I could not believe what I had just pulled off.