CITY SMART: How to thrive in the urban environment of Southern California. : Starting the Day En Pointe

Light streams through eight huge windows, casting a glare across the scuffed hardwood floor. We’re three stories up in an airy loft in Old Pasadena, and for once, the street below us--Colorado Boulevard--is quiet.

I’ve got an hour to spare before work, and so I come here, for the most grueling, yet tranquil kind of exercise: ballet class.

My friends laugh when I tell them about it. I have no coordination, no flexibility. When I was 5 years old, I begged my mom to let me drop out of my peewee dance class because I was hopelessly clumsy. Yet, 25 years later, here I am, trying to figure out how to do a grand plie in fourth position without falling over.

The reason is simple, really: For a rare moment, I can forget about the tuneup my car needs and step into a sanctuary of space and movement. It’s hard to think about much else when you’re pointing your toes and trying to count tendus.

We line up along two barres stretching the width and length of the dance floor. One wall is mirrored, a drum set sits off to the side. Through the panel of windows, we can see a panoramic view of the San Gabriel Mountains. Our instructor, Gail Abrahamson, flips on a tape of piano music.

We start by doing demi-plies in the first, second, fourth and fifth positions. Next we move on to a set of releves. Forget about looking graceful. I’m just trying to keep up.

“Try to relax your arm,” Gail tells me. “Don’t lean forward too much. . . . Turn your feet out a little more. Yeah. That’s it.” I complain about the pain. “Welcome to ballet,” she laughs.

*

On any given day there are three to eight students in the class. This morning, it’s packed. There is Jay, who studied at Juilliard. There’s Victoria, a high school senior who has been dancing since she was 3. (Her worn-out ballet slippers are held together with silver electrical tape.) There’s Alexis, a fine arts photography student, who says she hopes to someday perform a perfect pirouette.

And, presiding over it all, there’s Gail, who has a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in dance from UCLA. She has performed in everything from “Jesus Christ Superstar” to the Wild West show at Universal Studios. At the age of 34, she has been teaching dance for 15 years, turning the awkward into the elegant.

We end the class by doing half-turns across the floor. Outside, traffic starts to pick up, and within just a few hours, Colorado Boulevard will be moving at a frenzied pace.

I stuff my ballet shoes into my bag and head to the office. Sore, but refreshed.