Blackpool
2005 - My Experience
In
spring 2004 we had two children, David Church and Jasmine
Lohan, telling us their story of the 2003 Blackpool
weekend. Two years later we read the experience of an
adult competitor, Julie Clift-Thompson.
Of
course, the finals weekend in Blackpool is just the
finale to the many months of training, blood sweat and
tears (yes, even at my age!). The word 'Blackpool' is
uttered many times during the course of the year, but
then it seems like a distant goal, there's plenty of
time to perfect those walks, that footwork, lose all
those extra pounds and learn how to curtsey with grace.
And then it happens, you're in the last few weeks before
that weekend and things go crazy. Your teacher starts
acting really weird, nothing you do is right, in fact
it is far from right, it seems like it will never be
right. Is it time to give up and take up another hobby?
Because yes, I must remember, this is just a hobby,
but somehow it seems far more important than that.
The weekend is here (they are forecasting snow), the
journey has been planned (gulp), the hotel arrangements
made, it's just a case of remembering all the bits and
pieces I might ever need
and then I'm off! Whilst dealing with logistical tasks
everything is simple, I am on autopilot, things get
done.
Then
I arrive at Blackpool, I find out that my hotel is hosting
their 'Turkey & Tinsel' weekend and there are coach-loads
of people who are enjoying their Christmas break. We
are sitting in the hotel eating our evening meal amongst
people pulling crackers, wearing paper hats and eating
turkey! How can we turn our minds to the real reason
we are here - the dancing - things are surreal!
I'm
looking forward to the Grand Dance, meeting everyone,
getting a feeling of the ballroom floor before the big
day tomorrow.
The performance by the organising committee was great,
their version of 'Village People' and 'YMCA' got everyone
in the mood. The results of that night's Strictly Come
Dancing elimination were announced to keep everyone
informed. I view the demonstration with mixed feelings
- first of all I am awestruck at their grace, energy
and skill; their performance is awe inspiring and a
credit to all their hard work. Then, on the other hand,
I measure my own performance with theirs and I think
'hang on a minute, what am I doing here?’ I'm
sure I'm not the only one who thought that though!
And now the day is here, the day that I have been planning
for, the day that I have walked through countless times
in my mind but now that it is here - it's all different.
Suddenly I am a quivering wreck who cannot remember
anything - how do I get dressed and what do I wear?
I'm
now watching my fellow competitors from my school, standing
nervously awaiting their events. This is a very important
part of this weekend - supporting fellow students from
your dance school, being part of a team, the
feeling is intoxicating and you get carried away with
everyone else's nerves as well as your own.
Well,
it's my turn, I've been called to the floor to dance
my Waltz, I'm so nervous my throat is dry and my face
starts twitching involuntarily so I cannot smile - my
teacher says, ‘smile’, I say ‘I can't’
- we dance around the floor (which feels so incredibly
huge in com parison to our studio). It's over. I've
danced now and I want to do it again, I'm sure I could
have done it better, but you can't. It's all about the
performance on the day, that moment, your only chance.
I wait nervously with my companions until the next rounds.
Some of them are called back to dance again, some are
not - I was not, this time. I feel very cross with myself,
but my teacher tells me to concentrate on my next dance,
the Latin.
The presentations are made for the Ballroom results,
many pictures taken of dancers in their line-ups with
their trophies. Many relatives and friends are brimming
with pride. The first half is finished - and onto the
next.
I change into my Latin costume and join my companions
to start the next round. I'm watching the others again
on and off the floor, cheering them on, taking pictures
and congratulating them on their performances. And then
it's my turn to dance my Samba, I know the steps, the
routine, all the movements - I can hear my companions
cheering me on and it boosts my confidence making me
dance with just a little more purpose. My determination
to make the final pushes my nerves away just a little.
That was better, I feel, we'll see.
Again, we wait for the next rounds. Again some are called
back and some are not - I made it this time to the final,
hurray! Another chance to dance! Phew, I enjoyed that
and now we have to wait until the end to find out where
we have been placed.
Next come the results of the Latin, cameras flashing,
dancers in their line-ups with their trophies. I'm clapping
so much my hands are sore! My event is
announced and I have achieved 3rd place - hurray! I've
saved face with my teacher, I haven't let him down this
time.
Then
it's all over for another year. My companions and I
go and have a meal together, we talk about the weekend,
the highs and the lows, we ask ourselves 'why do we
put ourselves through this anguish?' and the response
is always ‘because we love what we do’.
Would we do things differently next year, probably not!
So
it's back to the dance studio, learning new routines,
perfecting style, footwork etc because, guess what?
It's a competition in Bournemouth next so here we go
again!
Julie
Clift-Thompson
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