In the body, as in life, often what begins as an adaptive response to a stressor becomes a habit or holding pattern. This expresses itself in several ways. Chronic pain and tightness; a feeling of impingement, ungroundedness, unevenness, clumsiness, chronic fatigue. This physical imbalance may be expressing a psychic or emotional imbalance, a trope or tendency to think, lean, or act in some habitual way. These tendencies and habits prevent spontaneity and may actually be the culprits that keep us repeating patterns of relating, and finding ourselves facing the same issues again and again. Habits expressed in chronically tight areas may take years to uncover, explore, and resolve, but the time and effort are well worth it, and the journey can be as satisfying as the resolution.

Ask anyone what makes humans stand upright, and most answers include some direct or indirect reference to gravity. Most people think of gravity as a force that must be “fought” in a continuous struggle in which – obviously – we are bound to lose. And the postures which express this belief are generally along a continuum between rigid holding or collapse. We forget that what goes down, must come back up; and forgetting that rebound, we get stuck in holding patterns that keep us either up, or down. The effort involved in staying put is greater than that which would allow for a rebound, or for a continuous flow between down and up. This flow – imbued now, rightly so – with an almost mystical reverence – is nothing other than a continuous energy exchange. Like the medieval Tarot symbol of the The Star, in which a woman holds two pitchers from which there is a continuous flow back and forth – when we are “in the flow” we partake of stream of energy which makes all effort seem effortless. This is because when we don’t hold on, we neither block our receptivity, nor our outpouring of energy, and there is a continuous refreshment.

The first step in finding the flow is acknowledging that it exists. A surfer stepping into the ocean is not in doubt that there will be waves. A key point here is trust. If you miss a wave, there will be another. That’s the nature of Ocean. Getting lost in regretting a missed wave, or nostalgically replaying a wave captured – either of these states will assuredly result in missing the next wave. This is a practice in continually letting go and staying alert and relaxed in the present. In the present is all the information you need.

Next, noticing where you are and what’s happening opens you to receive information. Whether standing or sitting, notice where you are receiving support. Support is continually there in any point of contact. Support exists even from something you are holding. Changing your relationship to the point of contact so that you are “receiving” it, not pushing it away, changes the energy flow between you and it. The point could be the ground, a chair, a steering wheel, a weight or cup, a person’s hand. This awareness is a place where you are relating to everything sensorially both inside you and outside you simultaneously.

Third, realize that the intention to rest into the point of contact is what creates support. Resting is not collapsing, but a subtle relaxation into the feeling of the contact. Relaxing increases sensation, that is, neuromuscular feedback. Muscles are wired in both directions; by allowing your weight to ‘fall’ into a surface, you create an automatic push back – that’s gravity. This is rebounding and creates reciprocity and flow.

3) What is Turnout?

Turnout is the outward rotation of the legs that gives ballet its characteristic aesthetic. Picture a dancer with heels together and toes pointing in opposite directions (First position) like a cartoon penguin, and you have the stereotypical idea of turnout. Dancers will go to extraordinary measures to achieve “perfect” (180 degrees) turnout.  The aesthetic of outward rotation comes from several historic factors: in the 17th century, when ballet was first performed by men in the court of Louis XIV (picture men in white hose, knee-length pantaloons, ruffled shirts, and black shoes with buckles and a heel) it was considered attractive for men to have a “well-turned calf”. Turning out the legs allows for quicker transitions of movement in various directions, as well as a technique called “beats” – in which the legs are crossed repeatedly in the air before landing. As the art developed, and women began to perform, turnout also allowed for the legs to be held higher. External rotation allows for greater range of motion and makes the uninterrupted “line” of the leg more pleasing.

Thanks to the popularization of dance,  physical therapists and some physicians are aware of ballet turnout as a function of the gluteals, which are  rotators of the thigh. However, the anatomy of turnout involves  abdominals and iliopsoas (core);  gluteals (butt);  hamstrings, abductors, and adductors (thigh muscles), gastrocnemius and peroneals (calf muscles),  even the foot and ankle. It is primarily an action, a spiral or spin of the muscles. It requires many years of training to implement. The most common mistake dancers make is turning out only from the knee down. The dancer becomes fixated on the position of the feet, and so imitates the “penguin” look without engaging the muscles above the knee that would support the rotation. This usually culminates in knee, ankle, and foot injuries ranging from dislocation of the patella and ankle sprains, to breaking the fifth metatarsal or little toe. Conversely, a dancer may turn out well enough from the hip and then fail to follow through in the lower leg and ankle. This is equally dangerous. In both situations, a torque is placed on the knee joint.

Turnout, or external rotation, is the cohesive factor or “glue” of ballet technique. Properly applied, turnout not only makes a dancer strong, quick, and beautiful, but keeps the body safe from injury. Turnout acquires a bad reputation from being misapplied and misunderstood. The human body is made to turn out at the hip, thanks to the rounded nature of the head of the femur, and the shallow socket where it rests. There is variation among individuals regarding the depth of the socket, and the tightness of the ligaments. Nevertheless, everyone is capable of some degree of turnout. It is a question of understanding how to achieve it. I tell my students: Turnout is a verb, not a noun. In other words, if you’re not turning out, you don’t have it. It is this fundamental shift in understanding – that turnout is a continually applied action, like a running engine,  an impetus that precedes each and every gesture and movement – that transforms this apparent physical distortion into a powerful technique. Further, turnout is a physical expression of the spiritual/emotional state of being open. One is turning from the inside out, exposing the core of the body, from the thighs to the heart itself, in a continual hum or “Om”. Experience leads me to wonder how much the achievement of it also depends upon a certain psycho-emotional maturity and willingness to feel exposed.

In some schools, turnout is “forced” – meaning that dancers are required to assume a 180 degree rotation of the feet whether they can actually sustain it muscularly or not. The theory behind this is roughly that 1) young children are so limber that it won’t hurt them, and 2) if they do it often enough they’ll figure out how to hold it. My thoughts on this are as follows: some bodies are more inclined to sustain such an extreme position without damage than others. Further, the older a student is when they begin to train, the more problematic this forcing becomes. As a dancer forces the feet, the foot arches collapse, the knees strain, and the pelvis tips forward,  arching the lower back in an attempt to counter-balance the forward trajectory of the weight caused by the collapsed foot arches. Thus, a dancer cannot even begin to use the correct muscles to develop turnout because their energy is being diverted into trying to maintain balance in very poor alignment. This scenario will invariably lead to injury in the near or distant future.

While a conscientious teacher will try to monitor each student in class to make sure they are not perpetrating the above disaster, tailoring instruction for individuals within a class situation is difficult. Furthermore, not all teachers are gifted at conveying how to achieve  turnout and strong technique. It is partly for this reason that professional schools tend to choose bodies that are naturally flexible. But even so, there will be children for whom turnout will be more of a challenge than for others. It is not only a matter of flexibility, but of strength, and the shape of the legs and feet. Dancers will go to great lengths to open or loosen the muscles of the hips and upper thighs to achieve turnout. But stretching is not enough because the trunk must not “sit” atop the hips like a lead box. Deep core conditioning outside of ballet class – Pilates, Rommett Floor barre, and private instruction -  may be necessary if not essential. Factor in that, throughout their training, dancers are growing and maturing. This compromises their proprioception – their ability to sense what their bodies are doing in space.

Finally, the influence of the Bolshoi and Kirov schools on ballet aesthetic in the 20th century cannot be underestimated. It began with Diaghilev’s tours of his Ballet Russes and culminated in the subsequent exodus of many great dancers, including George Balanchine. The emigre Russian teachers found their way into various schools, while George Balanchine founded New York City Ballet and its school, SAB, where his Kirov training was the springboard for what is now considered the American style of classical dance. It is important to understand this bit of history because it has a direct influence on how turnout is applied, and factors into successful ballet dancers’ careers. In the Russian schools, dancers were carefully and  scientifically selected based on physical measurements that predicted their capabilities. Bodies that did not adhere to the standard were not allowed to train in these schools. Thus, rigorous training that demanded perfect turnout was applied only to these elite, ultra-selected bodies. In the United States, such a selection process does not exist, even in schools like School of American Ballet and San Francisco Ballet School, for the simple reason that it would be economic suicide for these schools, as it would greatly reduce the pool of students. The result of this is that rigorous training demanding perfect turnout is being applied to less-than-rigorously selected bodies. Some manage to emerge strong and unscathed. Many do not.