Last week I finished Tori Murden McClure’s book, A Pearl in the Storm, in which she becomes the first woman to row across the Atlantic by herself in a rowboat, beset by hurricanes and in danger of death. Her rowboat was called The American Pearl. When she achieved this, Tori had already been the first woman and first American to ski to the geographic South Pole and the first woman to climb the Lewis Nunatak in the Antarctic. There is no question that Tori was, is, a top athlete. She also has an AB from Smith in Psychology, a Master of Divinity from Harvard, and a Master of Fine Arts in writing from Spalding University.
I mention these things because in many ways her drive, her love of solitary endeavor (mitigated somewhat after falling in love), her desire to study and to learn, are much like mine. I, too, have an AB (Columbia) – the AB is a BA in Latin, a law degree (Georgetown), a PhD in Philosophy (Temple University), and would love to get a Master of Fine Arts in writing from Spalding if I could afford to do that.
For all these commonalities, however, there is one minor passage in the book where Tori has to take a dance class (I think it was at Smith) and she suffers throughout in men’s ballet shoes since the women’s don’t go up to her size, inwardly and outwardly groaning at even the word “dance.”
For my part, I groan if someone suggests that we play a sport. When I was growing up, I was picked last for every team, suffering through mandatory swim tests at both camp and in college. I groan when someone suggests anything involving hitting or catching a ball (yes, even Pickle Ball). For all my physical training and exertion in dance, for all my high level of achievement (admittedly not as high as Tori’s in her domain), I feel confident saying “I am a dancer.” I have never, will never, say “I am an athlete.”
My strengths in dance were lyrical and expressive – I could balance for days on one toe, for example – but I was not strong in the kind of physical power that would enable me to jump high. I also didn’t have as much stamina in performance as many of my peers did. But I think there might be something else separating me from the idea of being an athlete besides power and stamina. Perhaps it has to do with category. Ballet (even though it is competitive) is in a different cultural category – a fine art rather than sport.
But why should category matter to anyone who is not a philosopher? It can’t just be a category difference, right? What is the actual difference? If you thought I was going to tell you, you are mistaken. I do not know. Both are often performed for an audience. Both involve one’s whole self, body and spirit. Both involve high levels of physical and motor expertise and training. Both require the sort of single-minded focus needed to move one’s body in line with one’s goals. Both have performative and aesthetic ideals even though they are not identical. Both involve suffering, injuries, and setbacks. Both require a tough mind as well as a tough body.
Perhaps the difference is no more than choice of poison, a matter of taste and personal preference – some prefer coffee, some tea. Some prefer cats, some dogs. In the case of coffee and tea, however, we can say that both are beverages. In the case of cats and dogs we can say that both are pet-lovers. What can we say about dancers and athletes that is the umbrella category? There seems to be something missing that would include both. If anyone can think of it, if it’s just temporarily eluding me, please put it in the comments below.
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