Behind the curtain

The illusion of effortlessness

When most elite athletes are pushing themselves, you can see it: A cyclist grimaces. A runner gasps for air. A gymnast fights to stick the landing.

Ballet asks dancers to do the opposite. Push your body to its absolute limit, all while ensuring nobody can tell when you step on stage, night after night after night.

Each performance can last around three hours, with multiple performances each week, plus the classes and rehearsals that fill the days. Francesca reveals that, come showtime, the hardest part isn’t the jump, turn, or artful pas de deux. It’s keeping a secret from the audience: just how much physicality it takes to perform.

“The hardest part is not showing the audience how tired you are,” says Francesca. “Every single step takes a lot of effort, and it’s taken years and years of a lot of practice. People would be quite shocked at how much it takes to look like that.”

“From the very second the performance starts, you’re embodying character, trying to show this illusion of effortlessness,” she says. Some steps require so much concentration that hiding the concentration becomes its own separate task.

People who’ve watched from the wings are often shocked by what’s happening. They hear dancers gasping for air from behind their smiles. They see them collapse into chairs after a solo, covered in sweat, only to walk back onstage seconds later looking completely composed and in control.

The effort isn’t without reward. There’s the music. The artistry. The moments that feel dreamlike. At the top of a jump, Francesca describes the feeling as if gravity has disappeared, “the closest a human might come to flying.”

Finding moments in the madness

“It feels a bit like going into battle,” Francesca says, referencing how it can feel to lace up her shoes, step into costume, and wait for the curtain to rise.

Yet, when the first notes from the orchestra arrive, it triggers something in her; despite the body’s fatigue, the mind finds a way to push it through.

She remembers performing The Sleeping Beauty, a notoriously hard ballet. There’s a moment where she had to hold a long balance en pointe and the entire audience waits, holding their breath, to see whether she’ll pull it off.

“There’s 2,500 people watching and I’m literally just zoned into myself, still and not moving. That felt like a very special moment.”

Francesca credits preparation and dedication to a successful performance. You train so much that, eventually, the training becomes confidence.

“It means showing up when you don’t feel like it necessarily,” says Francesca. “It means remembering why you do what you do, and that yes, it’s going to be hard work, but it is always ultimately worth it.”

When asked about fear, Francesca says it doesn’t disappear when you reach the top. You just learn how to work with it. Instead of asking, “What if this goes wrong?” Francesca started asking, “What if it goes right?”

A day that can end at 3 a.m.

A typical day is strenuous.

Mornings begin around 8:30 a.m. with breakfast and stretching, followed by a 90-minute technique class. She describes ballet class as “brushing our teeth as dancers.” It’s a daily discipline: part warm-up, part meditation, and always essential, no matter how elite.

On non-performance days, rehearsals can run from noon until 6:30 p.m. Show days are even longer. Dancers still take class in the morning. They rehearse until around 5:30, then go straight into hair, makeup, and costume before the show starts at 7:30.

The performance finishes around 10:30, but still the day isn’t over.

There’s still the adrenaline to come down from, a late meal to eat, flowers to place in water. By the time the body and mind finally settle, bedtime can easily be close to 3 a.m.

It doesn’t judge her, but it does gently push her toward better decisions. An earlier bedtime when feasible. More rest. A little more awareness. When her HRV is lower than expected before a performance, she adjusts. She pays more attention to fueling, keeps the pre-show routine calmer, and considers where she is in her cycle.

The Pod has also transformed her bedroom. It’s no longer somewhere she resists, a night owl at heart. It has become the coolest, calmest room in the house, a place where recovery actually begins.

“My bed is my favorite place, other than maybe the stage,” says Francesca.