When I was in sixth grade, I quit taking dance classes.

I had been dancing since I was three, and I was 11 at the time that I quit. I haven't danced in nine years.

Interestingly, I often think of my time dancing. I was so very little, but I remember my teachers, dance friends and sometimes routines, very well.

I never danced competitively or in front of a judge: it was dance for leisure, I could call it. I performed in countless recitals, wearing incredibly uncomfortable costumes, that may or may have not have looked cute when I wore them.

I remember the car rides to classes; my mom would usually take me. I remember the dark, icy nights, and occassionally the Saturday mornings.

I attended three different studios.

I remember the intensity — almost cruelty — of some of the older dancers who were more advanced. It always seemed like a competition.

I remember the girls I danced with well, even though I haven't spoke a word to them in nearly a decade. I'm not sure if they dance anymore.

When I was five, I got yelled at by my teacher for asking what time it was in the middle of class, and when I was in third grade, I had an extremely strict teacher who scared me to death. I still remember the routine I performed in that class: it was to Rihanna's song S.O.S — I'm not kidding. And today, I can still perform — at least — the first 30 seconds, or so, of the dance; it is engrained in my head and it was a terrifying experience.

When I quit dancing, I didn't think much of it. I wasn't that sad. I think I quit because it became clear to my parents that I had no future as a dancer, I didn't enjoy it that much, and since that was the case, it made more sense to start focusing on middle school committments — one of which was a sports requirement.

I didnt realize it at the time, but from the day I quit dancing to now, my physical health has detioriated noticeably.

I never gained serious weight or faced health problems, but my posture — I'll admit — is horrendous. The only exercise my back received after I quit dance was from the few sports seasons I played at school and lifting an extremely heavy backpack for nine years.

If I lean over, I'm nowhere near touching my hands to the floor, even though I used to be able to touch my entire palms to the floor — not to mention, I could do the splits with my right foot forward, without a problem.

Alas, I was never athletic, but perhaps in my youth, I was a decent dancer. Still, I never regretted quitting. I've now been not dancing, longer than I ever danced, and so I've had time to reflect on the experience.

It seemed so rigid at the time. My instructors scared me to death and, I'll admit, I never really liked gearing up for class. I think I looked at the clock too much to see how much time was left.

And today, I don't stand up straight.

I liked the routine, the structure, I think, for as much as an elementary school student could have liked it.

I realize now that I was actually in undeniably good shape for a girl my age.

I appreciate the lessons I learned from dance, the friends I made there and the skills I acquired as a very, very young person. Regretably, though, I feel there was no love loss: I was never going to be a dancer.

Still, I learned how to be tough and nimble. I acquired an appreciation for the arts. From the teacher I had in third grade, who scared me to death, I learned how to count music correctly — all kinds of music — something I can still do, and one day, perhaps, I can be inspired to regain my flexibility and skill.