My Foot Obsession

As an aspiring ballerina studying at the Boston Ballet as a teenager, I became obsessed with the qualities that would strengthen my opportunity to earn a spot in the apprentice company.  The “right” qualities included the right weight (super skinny but athletically strong), the right height (tiny), the right proportions (long legs, long arms, long neck) and of course, the “right” feet (great turnout, high arches, strong but not too high of an instep).   I intuitively knew that I could never really make the cut of being a ballerina because at 5’7” and 115 pounds, I was much too large to be a member of any major company.  However, I always felt as though my super-strong feet might at least get me a spot as an alternate in the back row.  When I first danced pointe at ten years old, I was willing to accept the bloody toes soaking through my white tights and the foot pain from dancing on a tiny box of dense cardboard until my feet built up callouses, which they eventually did.  One cannot overestimate the importance of “good feet” in being a professional ballet dancer, who will typically go through a pair of pointe shoes each performance.  When I was performing as a teenager in the Nutcracker, my friends and I would beg the pros to give us their shoes when they were done. They politely reserved their pointe shoes for us, and then autographed them, providing us with a thrill of a lifetime.  However, by the time I was 16, my pro ballerina-aspirations had diminished with the realization of my physical limitations, including my calloused feet.

I later became a subscriber to the Boston Ballet, and decided I could live vicariously through the bodies on stage.  Our tickets were orchestra row E, front and center where I could literally come eye to eye with the glorious feet of the dancers, particularly the ballerinas on pointe shoes.  I recall a performance of Swan Lake where a great Russian ballerina danced the role of Odette/Odile.  During one of her solos, the ribbons of one of her point shoes unraveled.  It was obvious to the audience this was happening, and aficionados of ballet know the most complex and athletically demanding choreography was yet to happen.  Somehow, she remained upright, on the box of her point shoe, strong and steady.  How she performed this impossible feat is beyond my imagination and trust me when I say neither Brady nor Gronk are as strong on a pound for pound basis as this tiny ballerina.

Decades later, I was in an adult ballet class. The wear and tear on my feet was evident, and one day, as I went into a relevè, I felt a tear in my foot.  I had ruptured a ligament in my instep.  It was incredibly painful, and I needed a few months of rehab, maybe even surgery. I found a sports biomechanic podiatrist who treated athletic foot injuries.  I apologized to his resident assistant for the ugliness of my feet, and she surprised me with her response. “Your feet are beautiful…they’re dancer’s feet.”  Wow.  They’re beautiful, not despite but because of their knobs, bunions, veins, callouses, high insteps and arches.  A different perspective.  It was at this time I started to view my feet differently.  I honored them, and the work they had done for me my entire life.  I took yoga to improve my foot flexibility. I studied and eventually received my Black Belt in Nia, a barefoot somatic movement practice which encourages exercise of the feet and ankles as they respond to the earth. I walk in bare feet whenever I can. Always in the house. At the pond in summer.  At the beach.  I’ve added all kinds of foot and ankle exercises to my classes. I wear toe separator socks. No. Stilettos. Ever.  I have learned that as we say in Nia, “the feet are the hands that touch the earth.”   My feet are beautiful because they are my energy lifeline from the earth to the rest of my body, and then back to the earth.  I will never take you for granted dear feet.  Thank you for all your hard work and support of me through my entire life.   I’m really grateful you are part of me.