A Ballerina’s Love Affair With Pointe Shoes, Part II.
Once I had purchased my first pair of pointe shoes, the steep uphill climb of the learning curve began. There was a lot to learn: how to sew on the ribbons, care for the shoes, care for the feet in and out of the shoes and, of course, how to use the things. But during the course of the drive home from the dance store, the shoes remained nestled in their box in a mass of tissue paper.
Within moments after getting them home I was ready to sew on the ribbons and give them a test-drive. Proper ribbon placement is essential; one cannot just sew them on haphazardly and hope for the best. To find the right placement, fold down the back of the shoe until it touches the shank on the inside of the shoe. The sites where the satin folds are where the ribbons go. My teacher was very particular and very thorough about sewing those ribbons; she made us fold the ends of the ribbon over on themselves twice before sewing them on. By sewing through several layers of ribbon, there was no way those puppies were ever going to rip off in the middle of something important.
At last we were able to try them out the following week. The final 10 minutes of class were set aside for the pointe shoe fledglings to spread their wings. We were given careful instructions on how to gently bend the shanks so they would curve under our arches and how to break in the boxes so they felt a little bit less like cement blocks. We ripped off a hunk of lamb’s wool (sold by the box), wrapped it around the toes to cushion them, then tied the ribbons in the trademark criss-cross around the ankles.
The first exercise on pointe was simple relevés on two legs, and we only did a few of them. It felt strange and rather anti-climactic. It also hurt. A lot.
Over the next several months we began to build up to doing more and more en pointe and I simultaneously began to have more and more pain in my feet, specifically in the joints of my big toes. Whenever I took my pointe shoes off, my feet would throb in protest, the joints of angry and red. I began to notice they were becoming enlarged. Needless to say, the pain and disfigurement were alarming. I tried putting ice on the affected area but it didn’t help – they kept growing.
I would come to find that nothing would help. Over the course of the many years that followed, my feet would gradually transform themselves into a twisted version of themselves. “The problem is that you need to strengthen the outside muscles of your calves,” said the podiatrist that I consulted (hundreds of exercises later there was no change). “The problem is that your big toes are longer than the others and your foot is warping itself to compensate,” said knowing friends (not much to be done about that). The problem continued to progress and I developed full-fledged bunions (really not pretty).
The real problem was that pointe shoes are actually instruments of torture. Beautiful to look at, but not so fun to get used to.
It took years before the breath-taking pain finally subsided. But for the first few years that I wore pointe shoes, it felt like my feet were being sliced with a hot knife. I’d often have to slip the shoes off for a few moments between exercise to relieve the continual aching pressure. When I finally took them off at the end of class I expected to see steam come pouring out, like in cartoons. Only it was no laughing matter, really. Most of the time I wanted to cry.
I had yet to learn how to dance with open, bloody blisters and to familiarize myself with the wide array of Dr. Scholl’s products that make a dancer’s life just that much more bearable. It wasn’t until years later in New York that I’d learn the tricks of mummifying my toes with medical tape and strategically placing squishy pads around nasty blisters and corns.
Human feet are subjected to a lot but dancers pretty much take the prize for being the most demanding of them.
Two summers ago, a fellow dancer and I were walking together. It was a hot day and I was wearing flip-flops. My friend happened to look down at my feet and commented,”Oh, your poor feet. Look at what pointe shoes have done them.” Her feet, by contrast, looked totally normal and pretty (I was envious).
In the overall scope of things, one could argue that I got off easy. Yes, my feet are somewhat deformed, but I never ripped, tweaked or broke anything. While many dancers end up with injuries that never completely go away, I never suffered anything that still lives with me now.
But in the ballet world, such is the price of glory.
My Feet
Normal Feet Photo: Shannah Pace
