The Love of Dance, The Pain of Age

I danced last night like I was back in the 90’s. I ignored my aching joints and the strain within my muscles as I shimmied to reggae beats and hiphop knocks from a time when my life was less complicated and I was all teen spirit. It felt glorious. This morning, I am paying for it. My best friends this morning are an icepack and a pillow for elevating my leg. When I was younger, I always wondered if I would always love dancing as much as I did when I first started. My first foray into a nightclub or a place-of-disputed-questionable-repute was when I was 17; my friend (still friends today) and I were home after a student strike at our high school and she took me to ‘Jungle’. It was awesome. The music thumped until eight in the morning, and we danced the entire time. My thirst was quenched by multiple bottles of cold Fanta Orange and I had the time of my life. I still love dancing…but not sure if my body loves it as much as my soul does.

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