if the shoe doesn't fit, wear it anyways

Having sated myself on blues the evening before, I ventured to my favorite tango venue - and by "favorite" I mean "most amazingly conveniently near to my house, so that it's unfathomable that I don't go there every evening since I could virtually roll over and be there, pjs and all" - this Saturday evening. The visit was long overdue, but then again sometimes I do put stock in the increased returns for a pleasure delayed. It certainly adds an additional excitement at the prospect of reuniting with old friends - not to mention the savory, succelent modicum of guilt for having been negligent in attending to one's favorite partners.

By some unpredictable accident of bobbypins, unpredictably obedient hair, and a little gloss of makeup, I managed to conjure myself elegant - sporting a look that's generally a bit too... well, willowy for me. The little black dress didn't hurt. Ordinarily, I do best with overdressed and flashy, arty and billowy, or simply athletic (and by "athletic" I mean "gasping for breath and covered in dirt and sweat" - see my before picture), but I might say on this evening, I looked positively... french (see my after).

This naturally necessitated donning my classiest pair of shoes - mauve suedish half closed toe with a ruddy metallic heel. Nevermind that they have a tendency not to fit quite right. Ordinarily they are a bit too loose and low in the heel but on this particular day, they were positively swimming, no doubt boding ill for ankles that have already been forced to tolerate a running schedule done in horribly inadequate shoes after I brilliantly neglected to remember my running shoes in Bellingham - c'est la vie. I resultingly danced a majority of the evening with my heel riding in and out of the shoe in a terribly unsupported fashion, which made some of the nuevo stuff quite awkward and required an artificial degree poise in dancing with a Portland lead who was clearly out of my league on a good-shoe day.

I'm amazed at the variations in foot size we go through in relatively short periods. Sometimes a few hours will demand an entirely new size and shape of shoe than what came before. This evening apparently would have preferred narrow heels. Some women are smart: they bring back-up shoes. These can range from different sizes to cover foot swelling, or different soles (rubber, cork, etc.) to accomodate for soreness and a more modest style of dancing. Many at least bring dance sneakers for the end of the evening (although this does look a little interesting with fancy dresses - a good argument for the flowy pantaloon look that is oh so milonga apropos). But when you reach a certain appearance, sometimes sacrifices must be made. Even if it involves sacrificing some dancing ability and comfort. Beauty is pain!

Reuniting meant making future plans and it looks like the practice will pick back up for me.This can be interesting to reconcile with the running schedule - stalling what might otherwise be recovery time. Even today, my legs feel a bit leaden from the two nights of dancing and inevitably poor sleep. I also seems to have resulted in yet another blackened toenail, thus tightening the race between running and tango in the Worst Thing I do To My Feet Competition. I swear, it's like sharks being drawn to blood in the water, the way leads' feet find the injured toe and hammer away at it. One bad accident inevitably turns into an evening long toe thumping.

As a complement to my moment of elegance, yesterday was my first adventure in cyclo-cross (or as I like to call it, Danish Death Cycling) watching, a spectator sport that takes on many more elements akin to actual sporting than most. I'm proud to say that I avoided any and all face plants into the mud, albeit narrowly. Expect an update about that soon.