I’m having conversations with my feet. My poor feet that are danced out, sore, kept me up at night.

Worried that they were injured again except that both of them hurt and only one had been injured. Muscles can be that sore; I didn’t know.

Taped up, diagnosed, need exercise in tiny little muscles that I cannot feel yet.

Don’t know how to make them move. Intrinsic muscles not working; I need to find them.

Feet taped so not hurting. Finally can sleep at night.

Fear was even worse than the pain, fear of not being able to dance.

I decided to use my hands to help my feet. My feet do not feel but my hands do.

Using what works.

Activating the muscles of my hands but doing exercises designed for my feet. Looking at my hands, but thinking of my feet; all four working together. Making my fingers long, squeezing the palms to make my hands narrow and create more structure in the transverse arch.

Thinking of my feet and looking at my hands which are much more awake, sending that intelligence to my feet, willing them to listen.

It is all too easy to let my toes take over in the wrong way, scrunching up. I slow down.

Tiny movements in the right places will do more than big movement with the wrong ones.

Using my hands in the right way in tandem with my feet, my toes echoing my fingers, lengthening. The crosswise, transverse arches working together, tiny movements lifting up and narrowing like stretching Silly Putty the long way in a funny mirror. Anything I can think of to make my feet remember how to move.

It works.

A tiny movement but in the right direction.

My feet are thinking about dancing again.

I talk to my feet: Wake up! Listen to what the fingers are saying and work like they do.

Letting my hands to talk to my feet, trusting that the message they send will reach my toes, lengthening toes, strengthening resolve to dance and feet to uphold me.

Hands, feet, heart, mind.

Feet talking to me, now, they want to move.

Tape me up and I’ll meet you on the dance floor.

My feet want to dance.

Dana
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