As I predicted, nerves were the main feature of Saturday before our dance. After waking up in the morning and engaging in chest-beating bragging of mastering my nerves, my bravado quickly wilted away as we prepared for the day. The bravado turned to weeping cowardice practiced in the foetal position with incomprehensible ramblings thrown in for good measure.
Luckily, I had the leader of the crew with me, and I would love to say it was her calm disposition that got me through it, but it was her own weeping and Smegal-esque ramblings in the corner that made me feel I was in good company.
In the hour preceding our routine, we were sat in a small, cold room outside the dressing room with the other dancers, and we took comfort in each others nerves. It helped non that they changed the schedule on a whim, which had the dressing room in a frenzy.
I'm glad to say the nerves didn't get the better of us during the dance. My inexperience, on the other hand, did. I made a couple of small mistakes which I let stew in my head during the dance, which meant I wasn't fully focused. While it is widely believed I was good, I believe I could have been a lot better.
We were just so happy to get through the evening, JC and I went on a bit of a tequila run. Double shots. We don't fuck around. Not everybody could handle it, but at least the barman had faith in our abilities to hold our own. He's obviously not THAT clued up about his job because he reckons JC can hold her liqour better than I can. But I was not the one who, minutes later, was rolling over her ankle, unimpeded, and had it not been for that poor door, which she clung to for dear life, would have had a lot more to worry about than her poorly ankle.
Needless to say, we left the studio at a rather ungodly hour. There will be a repeat of Saturday at the end of the month. This time, it will be on an actual stage. Should we do the 'Russian Roulette/Imma Be' routine again, we'll be just fine. Otherwise, there will be more cowering and jabbering and weeping.