My trusted pointe shoes finally took their last pounding and died on me - midway through class. Ouch! I call it a testament to my increased strength that I still managed to rise up on pointe with shoes that give less support than a sports bra. My teacher just called it suicidal. But I do look fondly at my battered old pointes. They were never perfect to begin with - hello bloody blisters - but I think we had a pretty good run nevertheless. I did my first echappés, my first relevés, piqués, bourrés, and even my first wobbly pirouttes in those shoes. We adjusted to each other, and just when we had established a comfortable working relationship, it came time to say goodbye!
During their short live span of 4,5 months we did our best to learn and grow stronger, and to present ourselves as elegantly as possible. Not really succeeding in the latter, but on occasion there might have been a fleeting moment - when we came just close enough to be on the same planet, instead of occupying different galaxies altogether. My pointe shoes never got to go up on stage - that excitement will be reserved for future pairs (hopefully) - but at least they were blessed to have their shanks snapped into shape by a former Odette/Odile! I cannot say that I will miss them dearly, but good memories will never be forgotten. Even after blisters have long since healed.
Next up: Long live my new pointes!