8:00 am, and I open the door, the cold breeze and smell of Marley flooring hit me in the face, abrupt but a gentle wake up after the hour-long nap on the car ride here. My friend and I walk through the dark studio to the change rooms; we are the first ones there that morning. Lying on the benches, we both try to stretch, drink coffee, and sleep at the same time, a combination we have mastered. All while questioning why we would do this to our selves every day. The other girls start arriving; every hair slicked back into a bun, the comb marks still visible. A funny contrast with the pyjamas and sweat pants everyone is wearing over their tights and bodysuits. We talk amongst ourselves calmly, as not to alert each other of the fact that we are supposed to be awake. We share our anticipations of how the mornings going to go; “Do you remember any of the exercises, cause I don’t.” “I pray she’s in a good mood.” “How long do you think we could distract her for?” are all phrases that are thrown around daily. It hits 8:15, and we slowly start to saunter one by one into the studio. Point shoes, wrap skirts and water bottles in hand, still wearing are sweatpants and pyjamas. I twist out my back, and a pop comes from every vertebra. At this point, we all realise our fate. Working out the kinks from the day before and trying so hard to wake up are muscles that should be sitting in a chair waiting for block one to start. Instead, we are here. We warm up quietly as to listen for the sound of the padlock on the door. Those four beeps give me just about as much anxiety as hearing any of Tchaikovsky’s opus 20. When she comes in, we go quiet, slowly starting conversations trying to gauge her mood, seeing how much pain we will be in by the end of the daunting 3-hour class. Simultaneously trying to distract her from the fact we are not yet dancing, prolonging our much-anticipated suffering. Though I dread every moment leading up to it, once class begins, and I start to move, I realise why I am here. Despite the hours, pain and all-around lack of a good time, it is still what I want to be doing most in the world.