Injury: Looking At The Bigger Picture
Photo, courtesey: Southeastern Reporter |
Injury – it's a dirty word for
dancers of all levels. With it, we associate a diminished
existence—where we are stripped of the very thing that gives us
joy—they ability to express ourselves without limits, both in class
and in performance. At once, you feel useless, devoid of identity,
left out, and the fear of being forgotten starts to take hold—these
thoughts, as we later learn, are counterproductive to the healing
process. Instead, we need to take the opportunity for our body to be
heard, to take a rest, and to flesh out the other parts of us that
make us the individual and special artists that we are. The views of
injuries as “death sentences” for a dancer's career are outdated
and old-fashioned. I have countless colleagues who speak of their
injuries as positive, mind-set changing experiences—when they used
the time to actually heal.
I broke my foot twice while dancing with The Sacramento Ballet, and it only made me a stronger, smarter dancer. I had always been the student that never missed class—I would beg my mom to let me go—sick, injured, whatever. I recall marking rehearsals for The Sleeping Beauty in my street shoes, while I recovered from a foot injury—I would not fall behind or be replaced. This determination and drive helped me achieve a level of dancing that I don't think I would have otherwise, but I was also blessed in that I did not endure any serious injuries as a student. When I broke my foot in company class for the first time, I knew something was different. My instincts and adrenaline took over, and I mindlessly uttered “I'm fine,” though a part of me knew I was done using that foot for the day. In that moment, something in me changed. I was able to see the big picture—I knew I wanted to continue dancing, so I relinquished myself to the healing process as I sat in the lobby with my foot in a cryo-cuff, waiting to be scheduled for the necessary doctors appointments. For the first time in over a decade, I would not get to participate in my favorite holiday tradition: The Nutcracker. I thought I would be devastated—instead, I felt peace.
I broke my foot twice while dancing with The Sacramento Ballet, and it only made me a stronger, smarter dancer. I had always been the student that never missed class—I would beg my mom to let me go—sick, injured, whatever. I recall marking rehearsals for The Sleeping Beauty in my street shoes, while I recovered from a foot injury—I would not fall behind or be replaced. This determination and drive helped me achieve a level of dancing that I don't think I would have otherwise, but I was also blessed in that I did not endure any serious injuries as a student. When I broke my foot in company class for the first time, I knew something was different. My instincts and adrenaline took over, and I mindlessly uttered “I'm fine,” though a part of me knew I was done using that foot for the day. In that moment, something in me changed. I was able to see the big picture—I knew I wanted to continue dancing, so I relinquished myself to the healing process as I sat in the lobby with my foot in a cryo-cuff, waiting to be scheduled for the necessary doctors appointments. For the first time in over a decade, I would not get to participate in my favorite holiday tradition: The Nutcracker. I thought I would be devastated—instead, I felt peace.
I consider healing to be the greatest
accomplishment of my dancing career; I practiced good habits
tirelessly and added new choreography to my movement routine, as I
was ready/permitted. Healing properly became my new obsession and I
brought all of my dance dedication to it. I read a lot. I
experienced (as well as I could in crutches, and later a walking
boot), the city in which I was dancing. One could still find me in
the studio quite a bit—good luck to anyone trying to keep me
out—but the time away opened my eyes to experiences that would
enrich my artistry. No, I did not get to perform that December (a
minor tragedy), but I became equipped with a strength that could not
be broken as easily as my foot. When I broke the same metatarsal
again a year later, the healing time flew by. I was pretty
disappointed to miss performing in A Midsummer Night's Dream—I
had been cast with senior soloist dancers in a featured role—but I
knew that it was not the end of my dancing. I indeed came back a
stronger and more mindful dancer.
If I could offer one piece of advice to
young dancers sidelined by injuries, it would be to not lose
heart—listen to your teachers, for they never want to keep you from
dancing—they want to keep you dancing—for a long, long time.
Missing one show is not a punishment. Compared to the possible
repercussions of an ignored injury, it is a drop in the bucket. So many positive, exciting things are happening in the world of sports/dance medicine, as you can read in the articles I've linked below. If you allow your injury to be the catalyst for a change in how you view and treat your body--for the long-haul of your dance career, then it's worth the cost of a missed performance opportunity.
People tend to overlook this aspect of dancing, where there are real physical demands and real hazards. It isn't all form, niceties, and grace. Anyway, I hope that your foot heals completely, and that you are able to step onto the floor without having to worry about the physical side effects or whatnot.
ReplyDeleteEmmett Fletcher @ CK Physiotherapy