First dance lesson a moving experience

Six words filled my head the second I stepped into the rehearsal studio for my inaugural dance class.

"Don't freak out. Just keep moving."

I'd gotten this advice the night before, when I told my 14-year-old niece, Jordan, I'd signed up for a sample adult dance class at the Tampa Bay Performing Art Center's Patel Conservatory. No, not ballroom. Or flamenco. Or even belly dancing. Fool that I was, I'd leapt at the chance to test my skills with something completely out of my generational comfort zone.

Forty-two-year-old soccer mom, meet urban hip-hop.

Dancers have always had my respect for the grace and beauty of their art, but I've always been more tomboy than girly girl. Then, a few years ago, I learned to appreciate the level of athleticism involved in ballet, tap and other forms of dance.

It was Jordan who showed me up close the physical power of dance. That girl tackles ab crunches and leg lifts like any top young athlete. And she does it with a smile.

I had grown curious about how she and other dancers were able to blend such physical power and graceful moves. Could a dance class be as difficult as strength training, a yoga class or a 10-mile run? And more importantly, could I handle the added element of knowing dance is all about having people watch your performance?

The makeup of the class was eclectic; the 40 students were younger and older, bigger and smaller than me. That helped ease a lot of anxiety. There were curious moms like me, but there also was a cluster of teen boys and girls who appeared to be recent high school grads.

The instructor, Jennifer Jones, was kind but not coddling. She walked us through a series of moves, eight counts at a time. I felt masterful the first few times she went through the steps. I even smiled. That is, until she added snaps, hand motions and hip swings.

I thought dance was all about the feet. I wasn't prepared to control other limbs.

That's where I struggled most, with basic motor skills. As a failed step aerobics student, I wasn't surprised it was my weak suit, but I had hoped it would be less obvious in a choreographed piece. Jordan's advice came in handy: I stopped getting frustrated and instead put on a smile and jumped back in. Or, at least, my feet did.

The music was a blessing and curse. Slower tempo hits, such as Beyonce's "Diva," I could handle. Others were far faster, and Jones and the routine demanded I pick it up. Instead of feeling horribly goofy in my movements, I embraced the cardio. I even beamed when I broke a sweat for a reason other than sheer terror.

The dancing felt a lot like the first time I attempted to run. As a novice, I prayed to make it to the next mailbox along my route. In the rehearsal studio, I hoped to make it through an eight-count without falling or kicking another student.

But there's a difference with dance. I was far more self-conscious. I'm not used to seeing myself in a wall of mirrors.

After class, Jones put it in context. I couldn't finish a race the first time I laced up my running shoes, and one dance class does not a Beyonce make. Stick around for several lessons, she suggested, and I might lose the anxiety and have some fun.

After class, I discovered a few of the star students are dancers in shows at Busch Gardens. It was comforting, I'll admit, knowing that even those pros stumbled here and there in the class. Maybe someone gave them great advice: Don't freak out. Just keep moving.

If you're feeling adventurous, on July 25 the Patel Conservatory will hold another open house with sample sessions for some of its dance, music and acting classes. Visit www.patelconservatory.org for details.