All this routine, it’s starting to rattle me

April 10, 2017

Picture thanks to Jessica Rae of Doodley Squat.

I AM getting increasingly frustrated at not being able to do that which I did without thought only a few (or 10 or so) years ago.

Although my mind might well be in denial about turning 40 next year, my body is continually reminding me ‘you’re not as young as you used to be’’.

Oh wait, that’s my boss.

Anyway, I am required to do a lot of dancing in Echuca-Moama Theatre Company’s upcoming musical Spamalot as one of six Laker Girls.

Who are all at least 15 years my junior.

Our dance routines involve tap, can can and cheerleading, liberally sprinkled with high kicks

and spins for good measure.

Piece of cake ... when I was like 25.

But I figured it should be like riding a bike.

And I was wrong. Flinging my leg up as high as I possibly not only hurt like hell, it didn’t come across as all that graceful either.

I’m lucky I didn’t tear my hamstring.

Maybe I should have listened to that voice crying out ‘make sure you stretch first’.

While I don’t like being told what to do and I am being forced to confront a new reality, it’s not only my flexibility that’s starting to deteriorate.

Remembering six to seven routines is also proving a tad tricky.

I mean I struggle to remember what happened this morning, let alone that tap routine two weeks ago with the ‘kick, shuffle ball change, snap heel and Shirley Temple’ move which took me hours to learn just at a slow tempo, let alone when it is cranked up to its real speed.

My memory has definitely declined over the years and I guess the copious amounts of

imbibing in my university days, having babies (baby brain), cancer (chemo brain) and a stroke probably hasn’t helped.

Just the other week I parked my car at Safeway Plaza and came back to see it sticking halfway out of the parking bay and still in drive.

I swear, cross my heart etc, I don’t remember leaving it like that.

I also forget people’s names all the time.

Which is really embarrassing when they remember mine and pronounce it correctly.

I dream of a world where everyone wears name tags.

And thank God for smartphone reminders, otherwise I would be completely clueless as to

where I am supposed to be.

So back to the show. My way of combatting my short-term memory loss is to repeat the

routine repeatedly until it is so ingrained in my head I am dancing it in my sleep.

As for the 500 costume changes, I’ll be writing a list, in very big print, because we don’t want

any more awkward wardrobe malfunctions do we?

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