Once a dancer, always a dancer

One of the greatest privileges of my career is witnessing an athlete’s arc over time and how they manage the transitions inherent to any athletic career. Whether the transition is from high school to college, from good to great, or from playing to retiring, it always contains a mixture of resistance, lessons, and opportunities for growth. Over the past year, I’ve had the honor of guiding two professional athletes into retirement. We started working together while they were competing at very high levels, and now, as they’re stepping out of their sports, we’re curious to see how their athletic careers will serve them in their next chapter. 

Moving into unknown territory, as is the case with any transition, forces us to sit with questions around identity: Who am I? Who was I? Who am I becoming? Transitions are such beautiful inflection points and we owe it to ourselves and our journey to dig deep for the answers.

So, I ask you, who were you as an athlete? Do you still identify as an athlete? What does being an athlete mean to you? I’m curious to know what your relationship is with your former athletic identity.

Many of us grew up playing sports. Whether you stopped after youth sports, played on JV or Varsity, or carried your sport into college or beyond, you undoubtedly learned lessons about yourself and the world around you through your participation. You possess qualities that were formed on the field or in the gym and that serve you now, in whatever arena you perform. Do you honor that chapter of your life? Do you honor the athlete still within you?

I’m often asked what sport I played and I typically say, “I was a dancer.” But, those words never really feel right coming out of my mouth. The “was” tastes strange. Why? Probably because I still identify as a dancer. I can so easily connect to that little girl who was painfully shy, but expressed herself through her body. The little girl with big dreams of becoming the first Blindian (Black and Indian) principal ballerina of a top ballet company. The girl who was never as flexible as the others, but who worked her strengths pretty darn well (e.g. really good feet, long arms, musicality - yep, I’m still proud of those things). The girl who sacrificed beach time every summer to dance at elite programs around the country, with the hope of ultimately going to one of those programs year-round. The girl who challenged her body to access levels of strength she didn’t know she had.

I can still smell the rosin we put on our pointe shoes, so that we didn’t slip. I can still feel the sting of my blisters as I taped my toes and prayed that the blood wouldn’t seep into my pointe shoes. I can still hear the piano accompanist playing the first few notes as barre began. I can still feel the satisfaction of learning difficult choreography and the high of performing on stage.

While I ultimately shifted away from a professional dance career, I still carry with me the lessons from that chapter of my life. Reflecting on those days, and connecting with the dancer within, activates my warrior mentality. It reminds me of my discipline, my resilience, my grace, and my inner strength - skills that were honed throughout a long dance journey and have served me well since.

When it comes down to it, I’m still a dancer. Now, I just let my body move on a spin bike. I dance across finish lines in triathlon or running. I dance in my living room with my son. I dance on my yoga mat. And when the opportunity presents itself, I’m the first to hit the dance floor. I think my challenge now is to remember that dancing still fuels my soul. When life feels heavy, I know that I can lighten things up, even if just temporarily, by dancing. 

May you always honor the athlete you were, the athlete you are, and the new version of the athlete you’re becoming.