Nerves and performing

However much I may criticise and poke fun at certain couples, of one thing I am absolutely certain. The celebs (all of them, even Joe Calzaghe) have my utmost respect for having the guts to get out on that dance floor and perform. They are going so far beyond their comfort zone, and yet each week, there they are, ready to entertain the masses, some of them even armed with a smile on their faces.

I have been performing for years and years and years, and yet I never know when an attack of nerves is going to strike. Much of the time I have a feeling of nervous anticipation, mingled with a little shot of adrenalin. Some of the time I am plagued with a “Why an earth did I volunteer to put myself through this?” sinking feeling; a few, very few, times, I haven’t cared, and it has shown in my performance. Again, a few times, I have been literally shaking with nerves, and that too has shown.

I have resigned myself to that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach before a performance, and a desperate clinging to my pre-performance rituals. The day of a performance, I have to run my number at home, perfectly, four times. I don’t know why 4 is the magic number, but 4 times it is. Even if the 3rd attempt is as good as I can get it, I still have to go for the 4th run through.

I need to pack my gig bag in a certain pre-ordained way. And then I need to take it all out numerous times just to check that everything really is in there. I need to take along 2 copies of my CD – one burnt copy, and the original, just in case.

I then need to listen to my lucky song (changes all the time, and is unfortunately never the same song that I am performing to) 4 times before leaving the house. On the journey to the venue, I need to constantly run through the choreography over and over again, using positive visualisation to make sure I get it just right on the night.

Once there, I am in limbo. I don’t want to eat until after I have danced, and I am too much on tenterhooks to be able to relax and enjoy the rest of the show. In fact, it is almost off-putting to watch others dance, as this prevents me running the song and choreo in my head.

Big dilemma – when to change? Too early, and I will fidget; too late, and I will fret that I am running late. Then the big, big problem that always happens as soon as I am pinned into my costume. I suddenly need the loo. I didn’t, even moments before. What to do? Metaphorically cross my legs and use mind over matter? Or struggle out of everything and make a dash?

That combined with the fact that I always need to get back stage super early, means that more often than not, I am like a cat on a hot tin roof. Back stage waiting to go on for a solo is the loneliest place in the world, but I need to finally put all the what ifs and self doubts to the back of my mind, and channel the nerves into energy and emotion. The day I stop feeling those pangs of anxiety, that questioning "Am I really up to this?", is the day I stop to care, and the day that my performance dies.

And the post-performance drink can be so sweet! And the adrenalin rush can last for hours!

And this is the big thing with the celebs. Dance is not their area; more often than not, performance is not even their area. And they only have one week to learn a dance, get the confidence to perform, go out amidst all the glittering, swirling lights, the heat from the lights, the frenzied studio crowd, in front of an audience of millions at home, to face a live and immediate critique from the judges. Most of them have to sit backstage, watching, and waiting, waiting, waiting for their turn. They are on camera, so have to keep the nervous habits at bay somehow and remember to show solidarity with their rivals. Seeing how the judges react – are they kind this week, or are they going for the jugular?

They can’t kick off their shoes the minute the dance is over, and swig a well deserved bottle of wine. They wait, and wait, and wait, tension rising for the dance-off. And the lucky ones get to come back and do it all over again, week after week after week.

They must be mad, and I love them all for their insanity.