Rodney Hide: Dancing, Krystal and me

In an exclusive edited extract from his new book, My Year of Living Dangerously, Act MP Rodney Hide reveals how Dancing With The Stars changed him - for good.

It was midnight and I was in the lift at the Bolton Hotel in Wellington, wearily heading to my room. I had a fellow in a business suit on each side of me and both were looking at me as though I was some kind of weirdo. They didn't appear to know each other, but exchanged knowing glances. What was that about? I wondered.

I looked down. The zip on my gym bag was open and sticking out was a pair of high-heeled lady's dancing shoes - very elegant and stylish. I had confirmed for these two men that politicians are a deviant bunch. I just smiled to myself. Any attempt at explanation would only make matters worse, so I stayed quiet and played along.

The shoes belonged to my dance partner, Krystal Stuart. It still hadn't been announced that I was to appear on Dancing With The Stars but we were practising furiously.

As soon as I agreed to appear on the show, I became determined to give it my best. I did a quick assessment of my situation and it wasn't looking good. I was fat and unfit, I hadn't done any physical activity for years and I weighed 132kg.

I had already made a start at getting fitter after the election through the Newmarket Raquets Club.

When I met Krystal six weeks before the show was to go to air, my weight was down to 115kg and I was feeling fitter (I would lose another 8kg during the show). On that first evening I told Krystal I would do whatever it took; my aim was to win the show. It was an outrageous goal but I wanted to impress upon her that I wasn't turning up to clown around, I was determined to dance. I asked her to set the most rigorous schedule a person could take.

She was smart and disciplined, but best of all she had a great sense of humour. She was going to need every bit of it.

At just 21, Krystal was a top dancer and she lived for it. She doesn't so much dance as become the music.

Like a lot of Kiwi men, I'm not a touchy-feely sort of guy. I felt awkward and clumsy. I had turned up for dance practice in shorts and a T-shirt while Krystal was in a skimpy dance skirt and top. Krystal walked up and wrapped me in her arms in a dance pose. I simply freaked. I wasn't used to being this close to people, especially a young woman I had only just met.

I started to sweat and shake. I hadn't realised that you danced this close to each other. Krystal told me to put out my left foot and I concentrated on her instruction. Left? Left? Aha, I had worked it out, I knew which one it was. My brain told it to step out, but ... it was my right foot that moved.

Krystal smiled and said sweetly, "Your other left!"

I had another problem. We found to Krystal's horror that I struggle to hear the beat in music. It was a problem that plagued us throughout the show.

But now the first night had arrived. Krystal's mum rang and told me: "Just dance for Krystal. No one else. Forget about everything else."

I wasn't nervous because I had discovered a state beyond fear where you don't feel anything. I imagine it's the oddly calm feeling you might have when facing a firing squad.

I started a routine with Krystal that we kept up every week.

Just before the camera came on to us I would extend my hand and ask, "Shall we dance, Miss Krystal?" She would always reply, resting her arm on mine, "My pleasure, Mr Hide". It was our mark of the respect that we had gained for each other and our respect of the dance.

The judges never much appreciated my dancing and I certainly wasn't as good as I felt. Each week the four judges would shred my performance, but I decided just to smile and never make excuses. Even so, the judges' comments hurt and they would ring in my ears, confirming what I always believed: that I couldn't dance.

I had two rules for myself: Never bag the judges; and try harder the following week.

Krystal knew how badly the judges' criticisms affected me, but she never lost faith. I did, many times. I remember once when she was sharply telling me what I was doing wrong, I was tired and I was getting sick of it.

She said, "Now don't you start crying on me!"

I said, "Don't be silly," but then retreated to the toilet. I don't believe I quite cried, but I did have a few quiet sobs to myself.

When I'd been in tough situations before, they were ones where I was in control. I was always in a position to know what to do next; that was my job. Now I didn't have a clue and I was totally dependent on a 21-year-old dancer, which was humbling.

Despite the judges' comments, it seemed as though the whole country was going mad about the show. Afterwards, we couldn't get away because we were surrounded by pupils wanting our autographs, especially Krystal's. On board the plane, the captain asked us to dance down the aisle. Krystal was fast asleep but I was sitting beside Dame Malvina Major, who graciously accepted my invitation to dance.

The dance experience took me back to the time before I was an MP and reminded me of why I wanted to be in parliament.

I realised again what makes New Zealand great. We love people giving it a go, and the underdog, and the guy who keeps going even against the odds and who, on falling down, gets up and tries again. It was great to be that guy. "Giving it a go" is deep within us culturally and perhaps even within our genes. We respect someone who's got guts.

I went dancing to conquer my personal fear and came hard up against what it was to be a New Zealander. It was so that all New Zealanders can "give it a go" and to have a New Zealand where we dust each other down on our first attempts so that we keep trying until we succeed.

Kiwis sitting at home understood what I was going through and could well imagine what it was like. They knew I was right on the edge.

At times, parliament and politics make for a very negative atmosphere. There's not a lot of positive feedback, but there's plenty of criticism and that does affect you and how you see the world. I was now in an overwhelmingly positive environment: everyone, from opera divas to truck drivers, was giving me every possible encouragement. It was a great feeling.

After five weeks, Krystal and I were down to the last four, hanging in on the strength of our public support. But when we reached week six it all got too much. We had to learn two dances.

It was stressful and I started mixing up the dances - inserting a foxtrot step into the middle of the cha-cha.

I remember walking from the dressing room to the studio trying to figure out how to break my leg in three places and make it look like an accident. This was completely the wrong frame of mind. Krystal could sense it, but it was too late - we were dancing.

And then it happened: I lost my way. My mind went blank, my body went numb and I froze and panicked at the same time.

Krystal started to improvise but I got more confused. What was she up to? I got more confused and lost.

I was frozen on the spot. I was living my nightmare.

I started to try to cheer myself by thinking it couldn't get any worse, when it did. The dance ended with me lifting Krystal up on to my shoulders and her sliding down my front and somersaulting forward. During our practice sessions I had never dropped Krystal and even when I lifted her awkwardly, I would always hang on to her for dear life. I couldn't imagine dropping and hurting a woman. Krystal was up on my shoulders and the dance was coming to an end. The next second there was an almighty bang and Krystal was sprawled out on the floor in front of me. I have never felt so sick. I thought that I had really hurt her. She had hit the ground hard and the crashing thump was shocking to hear. I rushed to see that she was okay but professional as always, Krystal was trying to recover her final pose. The judges gave us the lowest score in the worldwide history of Dancing With The Stars: four ones. Zeroes aren't allowed. We were out and it was over.

Krystal and I had spent hours in each other's company every day. Sometimes we had breakfast, lunch and dinner together. We had become a close-knit team but now we couldn't talk. I felt that I had let her down so badly, while she felt sick because she thought it was her fault. We travelled in miserable silence back to Wellington and I went to bed feeling worse than ever before in my life. I realised that I couldn't dance, I had been fooling myself.

I had failed miserably and I knew for sure that my public life was over and I was finished as a politician.

I didn't sleep, although I was exhausted. TVNZ's publicist met us at six the next morning. "Great news! Twenty-seven radio interviews and three TV appearances!" I groaned.

My dropping of Krystal was the show-stopper.

We did our interviews together, but in between there was an awful stony silence. We normally talked gaily about our dancing and the show, but now that was all over and it had ended in such failure. As Krystal hopped into a cab at TVNZ's studio in Auckland after our final interview, I realised I didn't know when I would see her again. I called out, "Hang on! I still have your shoes in my bag."

Krystal smiled and wound down the cab window. "Keep them. We are still dance partners, you know." It was the sweetest thing she could have said.

I was back to being a politician, doing what I was good at, but something was different. I found myself listening to people better and I felt I was better able to comprehend their circumstances.

I realised that I was always good at my job, always successful, always in control, while people coming to see me were overwhelmed by their problems, and overpowered by government departments and systems. I now knew what it was to be in a situation that I didn't understand and couldn't control. For the first time I was also aware of what it was like to fail totally. I had learned humility by discovering what it was to need someone else's help.

Before our final interview for the Sunday show, my secretary told me that Krystal had said she was dreading seeing me and I then realised just how bad she felt. I was so wrapped up in my own failure and misery that I had never considered her feelings. I was so upset about how selfish I had been that I took her for a coffee and we started talking again like old times. I could see that Krystal had cheered up and I was also over the worst.

Later, she texted me from Auckland saying she had a plan. The idea was that for our appearance on the final episode of Dancing With The Stars we would do the samba and we would put our cha-cha lift in at the end.

The Dancing With The Stars crew all had their hearts in their mouths, convinced we were making a terrible mistake. I knew that if I stuffed up I would have only myself to blame. It was high-risk, yet I felt extremely confident and happy.

In the moment before we went live I turned to Krystal to tell her I was going to dance as though my backside was on fire.

She said, "Do it. Do it for me".

I still don't know what our dance looked like that night because I have never watched it, but in my head I was dancing like never before. I was on fire and I was loving it. I wasn't even thinking about the steps or about what my body was doing. I was just wrapped up in the music and the night, and it was fantastic.

Then the terrible thought hit me: "I am coming up to the bit where I drop Krystal!"

Krystal moved in for the last steps, reached across... and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I was momentarily shocked. We hadn't rehearsed that, what on earth was going on? A kiss from a young woman, on TV? But the shock caused me to slow right down, lose the panic and do what we had rehearsed a hundred times - flawlessly. Krystal sailed up, I held her on my shoulders, she slid down my front perfectly balanced, then somersaulted, came up, flicked her foot dismissively, and I fell perfectly flat to the floor. I had pulled it off, and I had never, ever felt so good. The crowd went wild. Krystal whispered in my ear that I had nailed it. I could dance.

 

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