Some things never change

When my Crimsonette coach of five years came to New York last week for a dance clinic, I was excited to attend a few of the classes with her and catch up. In the five years since I twirled at Alabama, she has become a friend, and we have much more candid conversations and laughs than when I was a student and she was my mentor.

But as I lined up with all the other dancers (who were at least 10 years younger than me and, let's face it, actual dancers), my palms began to sweat. It wasn't that I cared what these hotshot kids thought of me and my creaky arms and legs - it was Marion. Was she watching me? What did she think of that jump? Are my arms moving at the correct angles? Am I staying on beat? I quickly realized the safety I had sought in the back corner to shield me from the gaze of the other dancers had put me right in Marion's line of sight. I felt like I was 19 again - wiping my palms on my shorts for a better grip, trying to kick higher, twirl faster and catch her attention with every toss of my baton. As my heart raced, I laughed that some things never change, but at least now I wasn't scared to grab Marion from the sidelines and make her dance beside me.

That was then: with Marion after Crimsonette tryouts when I made Captain in April 2000.