It was ten O'clock. The ballet dancer gladly untied the straps to her shimmering ballet shoes. She put them on at nine O'clock, and had rarely taken them off since then. Her feet ached.
When she decided to be a ballerina at the age of eight, she had had no idea it was going to be this hard. Hours of rehersals, minutes of anxiety at auditions, and thrilling moments of performing.
Her feet always seemed to hurt, but it was a good hurt; a hurt of which she was proud. It told her that she was doing what she loved and living in her dream. This hurt reminded her she could do a grand jete and a series of lightning fast pequae turns.
This hurt is what motivated her to do better and strengthen her body, and push herself to new levels. This hurt meant strength. It is quite amazing how often those to coincide.
The ballerina put her shoes in her bag, and went home. She was ready to do it all over again the next day.
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