Turning 50 is a milestone, and I decided to meet it head-on with celebration. Birthdays should be about joy, not dwelling on numbers, so my weeks were filled with champagne, dinners, and of course, cake. Even a nagging knee pain couldn’t dampen my spirits. It was a minor annoyance, limiting some steps in my dance lessons, but I’ve dealt with aches before. I’m tough, I thought. Sheer willpower would carry me through Nationals in St. Louis, regardless of any physical complaints.
However, this time was different. My knee didn’t cooperate, and it significantly impacted my competition. The pain was more than just a nuisance; it brought tears and a heavy dose of reality.
It wasn’t for lack of trying. Midway through our first heat, a sharp pop in my knee signaled trouble. Pain shot through me, and my knee felt like it was giving way. It wasn’t just painful; it was unstable, refusing to bear my weight. I’m sure my forced smile wavered as I momentarily balanced on one leg, fighting back panic. But quitting wasn’t an option.
Somehow, I managed to finish that heat and the subsequent one. I kept my distress hidden from CJ, my partner. I didn’t want to compromise his performance by making him adjust to my limitations. All the recent improvements we had worked on vanished as my sole focus became staying upright. Stretches, hops, jumps, deep dips, and expansive strides were all abandoned. Just standing and moving forward was agony. Adrenaline deserves credit here; it was working overtime. My dancing was far from my best, a massive understatement. But completing those heats felt like an achievement of monumental proportions, something I hadn’t imagined possible. Then came the shock – we were awarded second place, a Silver Medal Dance finish, instead of the expected fourth. In the midst of pain and disappointment, a fleeting smile of awe broke through. Something fundamental – frame, posture, dynamics, focus, head position – must have persisted, ingrained enough to shine through even when survival mode took over.
The relief of finishing quickly gave way to intense pain. As soon as the adrenaline subsided, my body seemed to collapse. Attempting to walk to the water cooler proved impossible; my knee had completely failed, protesting even the slightest pressure. I finally confessed to CJ, who immediately understood the seriousness when he had to help me limp back to our hotel room.
We were scheduled for two more heats the next day, and three final heats after that. We had to withdraw from everything. The feeling of defeat was crushing as we informed the officials of our decision. Sitting in the audience, watching the first heat without us, brought a unique sting. We’ve faced competition losses countless times, but this felt different, a deeper sense of loss. With my knee throbbing and Nationals dreams shattered, tears threatened again.
Then, CJ turned to me, a wide smile on his face, and said, “We’re going to do so much better next year!” His unwavering support was a lifeline throughout this ordeal. He offered encouragement at every opportunity, never once complaining about his own lost chances. Navigating the highs of a dance journey is one thing; witnessing someone’s reaction when things go wrong reveals true character. I saw his strength and stability, and it was immensely comforting. It’s said that adversity reveals what’s within. Life showed me I was blessed with an even greater partner than I realized. For that, I am profoundly grateful.
Reflecting on our journey, we acknowledged our fortunate run. Yes, injury forced us to stop dancing, a painful blow. But for 14 years, we’ve been spared such setbacks, or any other obstacle. We’ve competed in every competition we aimed for, without flight delays, illness, schedule conflicts, or anything disrupting even a single heat. We recalled stories from other dancers who had missed competitions due to unforeseen circumstances. Over a long enough timeline, both victories and setbacks are inevitable. And we are incredibly blessed to have been “doing this long enough.”
This experience made me consider the hidden struggles others might be facing behind their competition smiles. Dance competitions are spectacular, the culmination of months of dedication, a chance to shine. But how often do they occur at perfect life moments, untouched by challenges? More likely, competitors are carrying physical or mental burdens onto the floor with them. We’re not just dancing; we are performing. And performance demands overcoming. How many times has the “show must go on” mentality propelled a dancer through what felt almost insurmountable? Pondering this filled me with pride and respect for my fellow dancers. Dance is an incredible inspiration! We are fortunate to have a passion strong enough to drive us to push beyond our limits for a beautiful and worthy goal.
My birthday cards and “50” balloon still decorate my living room. Looking at them brings a mix of emotions. But my 50th year has certainly begun memorably. And thinking about it, I take back my earlier thought – pain didn’t win. It landed a strong blow, but this dancer is far from finished. A dance floor awaits me, and it will take more than a grumpy knee to keep me from my dreams. In the meantime, this silver medal dance, earned against the odds, shines brighter than any gold.
