Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go On Stage...

You know those movies where the nice young family moves into a beautiful dream home only to find out that it was built on the site of some horrific massacre that forever cursed the land and anyone who dared come near it?

That's kind of what this stage is like.

As usual, one of the first things I checked out upon arriving at the theatre was the state of the floor. While it's most important to do this with the wheel, a quick walk around will give me a pretty good idea of what I'm going to be dealing with. As of late, there hasn't been too much to smile about.

But this floor... this floor was magic. Perfectly level, not a single discernible seam or bump, very solid, very hard. Plus it has a marley covering so a nice grip on the floor seemed a sure bet.

Whenever we arrive in a new city, we have a meeting to discuss any news as well as the schedule leading up to the dress rehearsal. There are a few things that need to be done in every city and wheel is usually one of them. Testing the floor is standard procedure. However, we're pretty swamped with other rehearsals at the moment as L has just been replaced in the show and her replacements (she's so awesome she needed two people to replace her!) need the stage time. Seeing as the stage seemed so incredibly glorious, I opted to give up my training time to more pressing matters.

Cue the ominous music...

Oh floor... how could you have mislead me so? Haven't I dealt with enough shitty stages lately? Couldn't you have just been as awesome as you seemed?

This floor is a monster. A monster that lives on momentum, energy and speed. It sucks the life out of all things that roll. Which is, as you can imagine, pretty disastrous when your apparatus is a giant wheel...

I first noticed something was off when I made my entrance. I do a couple of freehand rotations, nothing terribly challenging for me. Normally I don't even feel like I'm trying and the wheel just goes. This time, the wheel wasn't going quite as fast and a movement that for me is like walking suddenly felt a little like work.

Hm...

Then, move by move, line by line, the reality of my situation hit home. It didn't matter how hard I pushed or how much speed I gave, it wouldn't be enough. On some moves, I fell. Others, I barely made. The rest, I didn't even bother. Looks like I needed a little stage time after all...

So the next morning, I trained. And I soon realized the situation was worse than I thought. Not only did the floor devour whatever energy you put into it, it was inconsistent. One move might prove near impossible, another would be unbelievably easy. And there's no logic in which is which.

During the show, I would push 15 times harder on one move and barely make it. I would give everything to another one and almost go over. My instincts and knowledge of my discipline are suddenly worthless to me. I'm convinced I'm too fast (and under normal circumstances I'm sure I would be) and adjust accordingly only to come a hair's width from bashing my head on the plates. Nothing like a good fall to set to the tone of an act. I do the move again, giving even more speed. I'm sure that this time I'm going to go over, but no, I only just make it. At least I've learned to work a crowd and gloss over those kinds of moments, but still...

It makes no sense. Not only do I feel lost on stage, but my mind is working overtime trying to calculate what needs to be done, and my body becomes increasingly more exhausted and at an incredibly alarming rate.

I'm sure I'll get used to it in time, but we only have three more shows here. Either it won't be enough, or it will be just enough to screw me up completely the minute I get on a different surface. I'm guessing the latter.

I know it's silly, but part of me wishes I could explain the problem to the audience. I wish I could tell them that I'm normally much better but this floor is sucking the life out of me. I wish I could tell them that the fact that I can even do an entire German wheel act on this floor proves how good I am. I wish I could do things because nothing is worse than feeling embarrassed by your work.

But I can't do any of these things. So tomorrow, I will train again. And come tomorrow night, we'll see if I have tamed the beast.