What am I doing here? I can’t string the simplest chain of movements together. My arms are ignoring instructions from my brain. And I’ve lost the ability to tell right from left. I’m pretending to be a contemporary dancer, and everything is a bit of a blur.

This is a Bal Moderne, an innovative outreach project run by Belgium’s Rosas dance company. Whereas Rosas, led by choreographer Anne Teresa de Keersmaeker, blazes at the forefront of modern dance, the Bal is aimed at complete novices “with two left feet”, as the publicity explains. It’s contemporary dance for dummies, and about 100 people in Edinburgh’s Hub (including the two pals I’ve brought along for solidarity) are going for it with vim.

Rosas formed a highlight of the Edinburgh International Festival, with a superb programme of pieces set to Steve Reich’s intricate minimalism. De Keersmaeker builds patterns of exhilarating complexity, but the dancers inhabit her disciplined structures with sheer animal appetite for movement. On the first night they even survived a downpour from the theatre’s sprinkler system minutes before curtain-up (Rosas won two of the festival’s Herald Angel awards – one for sheer quality, and another for overcoming adversity).

The company gathers artists at the top of their game. Here in the Hub, trying to throw a salsa shuffle and remember which way is front, my face is wedged in a pained rictus and I’m stiff in all the wrong places. Think of Pierce Brosnan trying to sing in Mamma Mia and you’ll get an idea of the sheer wrongness of it all.

A couple of days previously, lithe company dancer Clinton Stringer told me how he loves leaving the theatre after a show and watching spectators trying out some of the moves for themselves. Unlike classical ballet, which is evidently impossible for mortals, individual components of the Rosas style may seem within grasp – especially the more snappy, angular segments. What makes them extraordinary, however, is the unpredictable way in which they’re put together and the steely discipline with which they’re performed.

My own discipline, alas, falters. The Bal Modern is distinctive in not offering a class – rather, it teaches three little pieces of choreography, and the challenge is to maintain the thread, think about mood and meaning, as well as which foot to lead with. We start off with a stompy African dance, and I just about manage some chunky moves. Then we each grab a partner for a piece by De Keersmaeker herself, set to the song Moonlight Shadow (who knew the high priestess of Belgian dance was a Mike Oldfield fan? Is she working up to full evening based on Tubular Bells?).

My unfortunate partner is the lovely Michelle, a drama teacher from Devon with suitably dramatic hair. De Keersmaeker has shaped a concise narrative of doomy antagonism, full of boxing jabs, mimed pistols, a fist to the bloke’s chest – but we make it quite tender, I think. Michelle tries to save me from myself, and I keep saying sorry. Though I don’t blame her for doing the shooting bit with some conviction.

As we recover, Michelle says she loves Rosas and has come along because she longs to vault over the barrier of self-consciousness. We agree that neither of us has quite achieved that (though here’s a tip – if you’re a bit shy about doing something, it’s probably best not to take a photographer from a national newspaper with you. Especially one who makes you stand at the front). In the serpentine final piece, by a Moroccan choreographer, Michelle is impressively fluid, though I’ve lost the will to waft. Truly, I’m a critic. I just like to watch.

After the Bal is over, coordinator Oona Duckworth explains that we’ve had only half the three hours they usually spend, and that the session normally segues into a party. Perhaps with more time even novices can begin to develop what is perhaps the most attractive quality of the Rosas dancers – their highly evolved teamwork. “It’s not a solo company,” Stringer agrees. “There’s no space for diva-like behaviour. We have to find a way of doing it together.” Even the most intently complex Reich dances are ignited by the troupe’s gleeful collaboration. “It’s about the relationship we have with each other,” the South African-born dancer considers. “That’s what connects us to the audience.” He especially enjoys making eye contact: “it can be totally inspiring when you come to the front and see people looking excited.”

What have I learned from my brief stumble? That I’m less slave to the rhythm, more murder on the dancefloor. That I can leave my hips out with the recycling, for all the use I make of them. And that this contemporary dance lark is every bit as hard as it looks, and to see it gleam you need a pack of Brussels’ finest.

Rosas’s Steve Reich Evening is at Sadler’s Wells, London EC1, on September 29 and 30 (0844 412 4300)

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