Ahh, the legs. Those marvellous stilts upon which we totter around, those pegs which are celebrated in paintings and porn; those poor things that are supposed to be sculpted out of creamy marble, waxed smooth, and bronzed to a lustrous sheen.
Ha! It’ll be a frosty day in hell before a waxing strip or a tanning bed comes close to my thighs, but I will boast to you all that I’ve got a lovely set of legs. What’s more, I only partially have genetics to thank for that.
I’ve got fabulous legs because, to be blunt, I need them to be that way for dance. It isn’t the need to have a lovely, well-shaped leg peeking out of the slit in my chiffon skirt that drives me to work on them. A dancer must have powerful legs if they: expect to have a smooth and effortless shimmy, wish to glide across the stage in relevé for five straight minutes, to do flawless standing-to-crouching-and-back level changes, or to (may the gods have mercy) draw themselves out of that Turkish Fold as though lifted by strings. These things take raw lower-body power, girls, and more than just a small amount of it.
So what sort of things should a belly dancer do in addition to her regular practice to whip those legs – and by extension, the glutes - into shape?
Well, you could follow Arnold’s example:
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