Waking Hours

Monica Loughman (39) is a ballerina and artistic director of Monica Loughman Elite Ballet. She lived in Russia for 14 years and danced with Perm State Ballet. She lives in Rathfarnham with her son, Damien (eight)

Monica Loughman’s life in dance

Iget up in the morning quite late, 7.45am. My son, Damien, is really eager to get up. He is a delight. You could wake him up with no sleep, and he’d still be such a pleasant child. I was never a morning person, but I am now. It’s because of him. You just get on with it.

I’m happy for every day. It’s the small things. Being with Damien makes me happy, and being present in what I’m doing every minute. He has his breakfast. I don’t have breakfast yet. I’ve started that apple-cider-vinegar thing. I put it in water, hold my nose and off I go. It’s not that bad.

Then I ferry him to school and come back and have a nice leisurely breakfast. I try to keep it healthy, but not always. At the moment, I’m doing the paleo diet — just natural yoghurt for breakfast. It’s not about weight, it’s about how I feel. I could live on bread and cheese, but when I do, it makes me very sleepy. Then I ring my assistant and do whatever needs to be done for work for the day — checking the bank, responding to emails and tax.

Then I get in the car and go to the studio. I start to train myself, which is the hardest part, because I’m on my own. The muscle memory is always there, but I’m not going to lie, you have to have a lot of discipline to get back into it. There are plenty of days when I don’t want to go into a cold studio on my own.

The studio is on the Long Mile Road, and it’s called Monica Loughman Elite Ballet. It’s like being in Russia; it has no frills. When I was 14, I went to train in Russia, and I stayed there for 14 years. I danced with the Perm State Ballet. You could have an amazing venue and no soul. This has tons of soul. It was made with artists in mind. It’s not perfect — the roof leaks, and it has a garage door on the front — but it’s that feeling when you walk into a room. Remember the old Digges Lane and how it felt? Even though it was a bit dingy, it was a great place. Boyzone would be rocking by, Michael Flatley would be there, and ballerinas too. It has that buzz.

At the moment, I’m training. I do 30 minutes on the treadmill, very gently. Then I’ll do an hour of barre, which is really hard. We are coming up to this show — Prima

Donna — in the National Concert Hall on Saturday, April 21. It is opera and ballet, with the soprano Sandra Oman. It’s not a full ballet. I get to choose what I dance, which is really nice for a change. People haven’t seen me dancing in four years. I thought, ‘I’ll deal with my private life, get myself back on track and come back.’ Now I’m happier, and I just want to do what I love doing — teach and dance.

My son is one of the reasons that I’m doing this show. Initially when I was asked to do it, I said, ‘I don’t want this to be about me any more’. I’m really focused on these other young people, nurturing their talent. It’s very hard to go back into the spotlight after you have deliberately removed yourself from it. And I had happily removed myself from it. Damien said, ‘Mum, I can’t really remember your dancing, and I’d really like to see it.’ I sat down on the couch and I cried and cried because I knew what it would entail to do it again. I knew the kind of torture that I’d have to put myself through. But if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it well. I’m an all-or-nothing type of person.

After I train, I go and pick up my child. I look like I have fallen off the back of a bus. All the mothers look lovely, and I’m there in a coat with a hood up and glasses, and a pale face and no make-up. I bring Damien home and feed him. He’s very picky, but once he eats lots of vegetables, he can have whatever he wants. I’m very lucky.

I’m really focused on my teaching and I’m good at it. I say this because I was the kid who didn’t know my right foot from my left. So then, when you are teaching somebody, you can put yourself in their shoes. That is a skill.

Currently, I have four girls in St Petersburg apprenticing in a ballet company, and I have one boy who is a massive talent in Perm — which is where I went. In the afternoons, Damien comes to the studio with me. He doesn’t want to do ballet, so I let him do his own thing. He wants to be an architect or a Lego designer. He’s got this amazing ballet body, and his dad is a Russian ballet dancer, so he has it on both sides. He loves the arts. He can sit watching a full ballet, and he listens to classical music all the time. On the evenings that I teach, he’ll do his homework in the studio. I see him bouncing around on a yoga ball, chatting to the other kids.

My full-time students train six days a week. This is where we are going to

“I’m an all-or-nothing type of person. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it well”

produce the goods. I tell them that I am not going to take their money unless they are able to earn a living from ballet, eventually. They are so dedicated, and so are the families, as they drive them to their classes. There are 10-year-olds influencing their parents, saying, ‘I want to do this with my life’. I feel a massive amount of responsibility with that. I adore teaching. It’s my calling, what I was meant to do.

I finish teaching at 8pm. I pull down the shutters, throw Damien in the car and we go home and have supper. I shower him, shower myself, and he’s in bed by 9pm. Then I have soup and lots of water. Then I might watch some politics.

I’m in bed by 11pm, and I’m a really good sleeper. Then I’m up at 7.45, and off I go again. It’s actually quite nice. I’m my own boss, I get to set my rhythm.