This past Sunday was a long dance day. I rehearsed a modern trio with moments of hairography (love!), practiced a structured improv with a Mardi Gras twist, and attended my very first Motus Core meeting. After that I hopped in my car and caravanned with several other ladies to the White Rabbit for a few hours of Hasenpfeffer rehearsals. We reset two pieces, one of which I have never done, and the other one that I performed back in August (poorly).
All in all I wore a leotard for a little over seven hours straight (with a few water and slimfast bar breaks.) My brain was slightly fried, and I may have gotten a little loopy toward the end. Next time, I will plan my coffee consumption more wisely.
Somewhere in the middle of all the dance madness, I felt a stinging pain at the bottom of my left foot, in the space where my pinky toe attaches to the ball of my foot. I immediately recognized this sensation as the ever annoying and deceptively painful toe split. It has been almost a year since I have gotten one. Toe splits are caused by friction from dancing in bare feet. The skin literally splits in two, like a torn piece of paper. It’s only a small rip, but I am reminded of that one turn with the plié and the side curve that caused it with every step.
I know it sounds like I am complaining, but I promise I am only a little bit. I wear my toe split like a badge if bad ass-ery (if that’s a word). I danced hard and here is my proof, living in a slightly bloodied sock.