June 25, 2025, 11:37 am | Read time: 10 minutes
At six years old, FITBOOK editor Julia Freiberger first stepped onto Europe’s largest stage. For ten years, she received professional training as a dancer and actress. She performed on a stage that moved and lived between rehearsals, school desks, and applause. But then came the silence, and suddenly her body didn’t know where to go.
There are only a few places I can truly call home. The Friedrichstadt-Palast is one of them. Even though the years there were marked by sweat, tears, and sacrifice–I would choose this path again anytime.
Follow the FITBOOK channel on WhatsApp now!
Overview
My First Step on Stage
Sometimes, when I lie in bed and close my eyes, I can still hear it clearly: the applause. I imagine standing in complete darkness, reaching for my friend’s hand, trembling with excitement–and she squeezes back. Then I see the curtain rise, the lights come on, the stage suddenly bright–and over 1,000 people are watching. I remember the brief flicker of nervousness until I hear the music–and my body takes over automatically.
Also interesting: 7 effective exercises for well-toned lower abs
Discipline Instead of Sleeping In
I was a child who loved to sleep in. Waking up in the morning was hard for me–until I suddenly had to be in the rehearsal room at nine o’clock: awake, focused, full of tension down to my fingertips. No room for laziness, no time for excuses. Over time, our training group became a community. We grew together through every rehearsal, every shared pre-performance jitters. It was more than just training–it was a home.
Between School Desk and Spotlight
I was doing the splits–not just on stage, but in everyday life. Between school, dance, and my private life. Mornings at the school desk, afternoons in the training room, evenings doing homework. And on weekends: rehearsals, performances, or just sleeping because my body was tired.
There used to be clear requirements for the children in the ensemble–not just in terms of dance, but also appearance. The group was supposed to look uniform in size, figure, and charisma. There were specific guidelines, similar to adult shows or the Moulin Rouge. The goal was a cohesive overall picture on stage–acrobatic, synchronized, visually appealing. In the end, it was an entertainment program.
Discipline Was a Priority
Those who couldn’t physically or performance-wise adapt were not allowed to stay. A good sense of rhythm, ballet technique, discipline–all of this was required. At the same time, academic performance was also part of the evaluation: If my grades had suffered due to training at the Palast, I wouldn’t have been allowed to participate. School took precedence. This often put pressure on me. I knew I could lose my place if I didn’t perform well in school–even though I trained for hours in the afternoons. I was afraid that a bad grade could jeopardize everything. And I often had this thought in the back of my mind, even while dancing.
Organizational Requirements
A medical certificate confirming physical suitability was needed, as well as the school’s approval. And because we received a small allowance for our performances, the youth welfare office had to officially approve–since we were under 18 and thus “earning” in the artistic field.
Some of my friends couldn’t understand why I missed birthdays, why I never stayed long, or canceled spontaneously. But I knew: If I had to be back in the hall at nine o’clock on Saturday, I couldn’t afford a night with little sleep–especially if a dress rehearsal was scheduled, which could easily last four hours.
Life on Europe’s Largest Stage
In the ensemble, there was always an A and a B cast. My year consisted of 20 girls. Two dancers per role–that meant double the performance, but also double the chance. Each of us knew: The stage belongs to me today–or to her.
In plain terms, this meant: The A and B cast alternated daily. Each of us had a fixed “double”–a girl who was as similar as possible in height and proportions. Only then could we share a role, including costumes. Sometimes the double would drop out at short notice–and then you stepped in. It could quickly happen that you were on stage three nights in a row. And although it was exhausting, it was also a special kind of happiness.
Training with High Standards
Being a member of the young ensemble at the Friedrichstadt-Palast was much more than just dancing for me. We received professional stage training with a focus on dance, acting, and singing. Dance training was mandatory for everyone. We learned classical ballet, modern dance, and jazz–every week, for years.
What Our Dance Training Looked Like
A typical training session always began with cardio. We had to warm up–and do it properly. If the leotard wasn’t soaked with sweat by the end of the session, you hadn’t worked hard enough.
If there were no shows, the focus was on classical ballet. We were accompanied on the piano–live, by someone who supported our rhythm. It wasn’t enough to master the steps technically; you also needed a feel for rhythm, tempo, and music.
Our ballet teacher showed us the sequences, and we lined up in three rows to try to replicate them. One of the biggest challenges: landing silently on the floor after a jump. No noise–or at least as quietly as possible. This was checked row by row. We practiced many different technical exercises–including pliés, tendus, ronds de jambe, grand battements, port de bras. These were just a few examples.
At First, It All Hurt a Lot
My feet were constantly sore, every movement burned. But over time, they became desensitized. Eventually, my body got used to it. To this day, I have the advantage of being able to wear high heels for hours–without pain.
Welcome to Show Business
The mirror was a daily companion. Especially during the classical exercises at the barre, we constantly checked to see if every posture was correct, every line clean. Every movement was visually cross-checked–not to admire oneself, but to improve.
While the training was characterized by structure and technique, the show preparations were entirely different. We worked with special choreographers hired specifically for this purpose. First, there was a run-through–you watched the choreography, listened to the music, followed the movements. Then you had to dance it together with the choreographer.
Dancing into the Front Row
In the first round, the initial positions were assigned–usually to those who had kept up well early on. This put a lot of pressure on many. No one wanted to end up in the front row right at the start–because you were immediately visible there. Still, you secretly hoped the finger would point at you–that you would be chosen. It was a mix of fear and longing. And even though the rows rotated later anyway, it was about the principle.
Once the spots were assigned, the actual rehearsing began. Those who put in extra effort could move further forward in the show later. Those who danced in front were considered stronger. That’s why everyone always tried hard.
A Stage That Truly Lived
All of this took place on the largest theater stage in Europe–with movable levels, water basins, and platforms that rose or fell during the show. Back then, I laughed when people said, “The stage is alive.” But it really was.
Our daily routine was tightly scheduled: training, rehearsals, performances–and in between school, homework, short breaks in the dressing room. Yet, it was precisely there that the most beautiful memories were made: waiting backstage, whispering before the performance, secret McDonald’s trips. The Palast was more than just a stage–it was like a second family.
When Everything Stood Still
After ten years, my training ended. If you were selected, you could stay for another year–but in a different group. Some of my girls did that and then moved on to the adult shows. I could have done that theoretically. But I didn’t see my future in theater–so I decided against it and instead looked into studying.
Suddenly, the Daily Routine Wasn’t Structured Anymore
No training in the afternoon, no rehearsals on the weekend, no fixed routines structuring the day. It was unusual. I had lived by a fixed rhythm for years–and suddenly there was none. I tried to stay active at home, did workouts–but they didn’t come close to the level my body was used to. And so it reacted: with muscle stiffness, tension, cramps.
During the day, it was bearable; in the evening, it got bad. Especially the calves. My father massaged them for me every evening, sat by the bed, and tried to help. I lay there, completely exhausted, and often cried. Because it just didn’t get better. No matter what I tried.
Heat Patches, Hot Baths, Pills–Nothing Really Helped
The cramps became so severe that I eventually had to see a doctor. For a while, I even needed a crutch. His recommendation was: “Take magnesium.”
My legs were so strong from training that I couldn’t wear boots that went over the knee. The zipper just wouldn’t close. My body was ready for performance–but it was suddenly no longer needed.
Physical Consequences
After about a month, I noticed that my calves and legs had lost muscle mass. My body had quickly adjusted–without daily training, the body loses muscle relatively quickly. At the same time, I suddenly lacked the endurance I had previously taken for granted. When I went shopping and carried the bags up to the third floor, I could barely make it to the top without gasping for air–and that has remained the case to this day.
My flexibility has also significantly decreased. I used to be able to lift my leg over my head with ease–today, that’s no longer possible. The splits, which I had trained for years, I can no longer do. My body was used to daily stretching and coordination–and without it, much is simply lost. When the dancing stopped, so did my body–not all at once, but noticeably, piece by piece.
Incline Walking vs. Running: Study Shows More Fat Burned
Want strong shoulders? We recommend the reverse butterfly exercise.
Discipline, Pain, Applause! My Childhood as a Dancer on the World’s Largest Theater Stage
What Remains of Dancing
Today, I no longer dance. But I notice that dancing has stayed with me–in my posture, in my discipline, in my sense of movement. I used to be a child who loved to sleep in. Today, I can easily get up early. I’ve learned how to organize myself, how to keep going even when it’s not easy. And how to take responsibility–for myself, for others, for what I’ve started.
Sometimes I Think Back–and Regret Not Continuing
My parents wanted me to find a new dance group. But I wanted to continue with my old one. And because that was no longer possible, I let it go. Today, I go to the gym. It helps–but it’s not the same.
Maybe I’m not on stage anymore today. But much of it still accompanies me–in movements, in posture, in my everyday life. Looking back, I know I should have listened to my body more. Not to the feeling that I could only dance with my group. But to what would have been good for me physically.
For a long time, I thought I had to keep going because anything else would feel like a betrayal of my former life. But I could have taken responsibility for myself–earlier. That’s something I’ve taken from that time: Not to push through everything just because it’s familiar–but to honestly look at what the body needs. Today, I do it differently.