It's not whether you win or lose...

... it's whether or not you manage not to faint and/or vomit on the judge.

Anxiety and sports, people. A fine line between being good for the mental health, or just a bad time overall.

As many of you know, I'm a competitive dancer. I love competing because it gives me a drive to work harder and longer than I would if I didn't have a personal goal set for myself. And this month, I have been working harder and longer than I have since I started dance again (two years ago), with hopes of doing well in the next four competitions - two in February, and two in March. The first was today, and oh, what a day it was.

First of all, I've been dancing so much that I lost a toenail. Yes, gross, I'll leave it at that. Needless to say, it is painful. Not pain that I can't handle, but mother-fucking painful nonetheless. Do I let this get me down? Hell NO. Last night I had everything packed up and ready to go for a competition up island today. I had the gatorade mixed, the toe taped, I was ready to go and feeling strong! And then, well, there were a few hiccups.

Hiccup #1 - I had the worst sleep I've had in weeks, and it included nightmares about my Grandpa (deceased a year ago this month) and my sister. I kept waking up in cold sweats. So, I woke up feeling pretty underslept. But was I going to let that get me down? Hell NO! Bad sleep be DAMNED! I was alert, and ready to win this bitch.

Mistake #1 - So I don't really 'do' breakfast. The problem is, I recognize that I need to have some sort of meal before delving into competition. This morning, I made eggs on bagel - a meal I quite enjoy at about 11:00 am. 8 am, however, is another story. I ate my brekkie, made my coffee, and departed - hoping for the digestive best.

Mistake #2 - My teacher and I showed up *just* in time for me to change and make it up for the first dance. How were we to know they would skip the lunch break and actually be efficient at sticking to the schedule! For the record, that never happens. I wound up doing my first dance (the most strenuous of all, and the hardest on my toe) without warming up. At all. But was *I* going to let that get me down? Hello NO! I went up there, danced cold, and figured that although it wasn't my best performance, I did well considering, and I could write it off and concentrate on the next five.

Hiccup #2 - One can imagine the adrenaline rush of realizing you're late, then doing an extremely strenuous dance cold. For those of us who are physically delicate to anxiety, this is a recipe for disaster. Well, that and the eggs. Within five minutes of finishing the first dance, I sure did regret that breakfast. Yes indeedy I did...

Insert ten minutes of me experiencing intense problems with my, ahem, "guts". However... was I going to let this get me down? Hell NO! I popped an immodium (carried with me in my little anxiety rescue pack at all times) and off I went. Yes, lying in the fetal position would have been more comfortable, but what's a little bit of jumping? Pshaw.

I think the rest of the story writes itself. The competition was hard, the 6 dances I did (in under two hours - unprecendented and very difficult) were the most difficult, physically, of all the dances to choose from. The next five dances went as follows:

... clench stomach, swallow bile, get up to dance and pretend my toe doesn't feel like it's falling off and that I'm going to lose my eggs on the floor. Do dance. Walk off the floor, race outside, push down the nausea, burst into tears, dry my eyes, go in, warm up for the next dance.

Hiccup #3 - Due to the nausea, I danced six dances without a snack in between, and probably about four tablespoons of Gatorade. By the last dance I was seeing stars and my vision was starting to tunnel. Did I let that get me down? Hell... no?

Before I knew it, I was done. The day was a haze, but I made it through. God knows I wanted so badly to curl up and die in the change room and withdraw from the competition. Needless to say, I didn't place. I didn't do my best, and I know it. I allowed myself a small weep in the change room (alone, as the members of my class accepted their awards on stage), and rewarded myself by taking off my dance slippers and letting my toe breathe, and bleed, freely. Did I let it get me down? Well, yeah. It was a shitty fucking day, and I basically limped my way through the competition.

So here's the deal. I don't lose well, and I never have. I am my most brutal critic, and I always will be. If there's anything I've learned after working on myself and going through group, it is to give myself *sigh* "accurate credit." (I roll my eyes as I say this). But no. Dammit, this time I'm going to do it, and you all are my witnesses.

Accurate credit. I didn't give up. I didn't give up in the beginning, middle, or even the end - the last step of the last dance. I may not have placed, but I didn't let my performance anxiety or my anxiety around stomach problems get the best of me, and I took a risk that felt very risky and scary indeed. For this, I will go to bed proud, and sore.

Because really. It's not whether you win or lose, it's whether you manage not to faint and/or vomit on the judge. I may have come close, but dammit, I persisted.

Rest in peace, big toenail. Sure did miss you today...

PS