The keyword there is EXERCISE. In no way did I ever think that I would take a class like this and it would lead to a vocational change. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just not, you know...for me.
I’m not even in a relationship right now. Still, I can’t deny that a small part of me hoped I’d learn a few moves that I could use if I ever do find myself in a relationship again.
A friend of mine saw a Groupon that allowed one to purchase a pole dancing exercise class and to bring a friend – a one shot deal, just to try it out...
Truly, we had no idea what to expect. We showed up Saturday morning, me in my yoga pants, she in her running shorts. We met the instructor, a bubbly, adorable black woman with a squeaky voice. She reminded me of Tootie, only with better hair and no braces. She said the other four classmates should arrive shortly and we’d get started.
There were two poles in front of the mirrored wall. Behind them she'd set up a yoga mat for each of us.
The class started off as many exercise classes do, with some stretching and warming-up. The moves may have been a bit more sensual than in other classes, but nothing crazy. I was keeping up, feeling good, ready to get moving already. So far so good.
Then things changed.
Tootie helpfully demonstrated for us which parts of our anatomy were our “honey” and our “money.” We had to say this out loud – “This is my honey, and this is my money. Put it in the BANK.” I won’t get into much detail here, but let’s just say I had more in my bank than most of the other girls in the class.
We proceeded to do some gyrating type moves on the mat, all the while talking about honey and money. This part wasn’t too bad. Just as I started to get the hang of it, it was time for the pole.
This is where it got ugly.
First we had to dance on the pole. Now, not to brag, but I think I’m a pretty good dancer. I can get out and shake it with the best of them. I may have been a little overly confident in my gyration skills because, let me tell you, there was nothing pretty about what happened next. Over and over I TRIED to make my body do what Tootie’s was doing. But rather than looking like a graceful wave, I looked like a snake trying to digest a rat.
Next, Tootie demonstrated a simple spin. Hook your right leg in front of the pole, grab the top with your right hand, left hand up in a “Y” formation, left foot up on toes. Bring the left hand down to the pole and allow your weight to spin you around.
Sure.
We split into two groups of three, mine being me, my friend, and the tiniest ballerina you ever saw. She was grace personified, and cute as a bug.
My friend went first, and she did fine. She’s a little thing too, so she had no problem.
My turn. I gamely clomped up there like an elephant. I grabbed the pole, arm extended, and…
Like a pretzel at the bottom. You could hear the skin on my wrist SQUEEEEEK as I slid down, landing on top of my feet, which were tucked at unnatural angles beneath my bank.
The ballerina went next – and really she was a sweetheart so I can’t hate on her. She did it perfectly. She explained that she’d been taking classes twice a week for a month or so, but she looked like she had been doing it for years.
And so it went on. We’d practice, my friend did fine, I gallumped, the ballerina floated. Fine, SQUEAK, Float. Fine, SPLAT, Float. Over and over.
Eventually my body hurt so much that I gave up and watched from the sidelines. That was actually a lot more fun than participating. Everyone else seemed to get it, and I was fine with that.
I guess I can add pole dancing to the (long) list of things I’ll never be good at – like sports involving hand-eye coordination and snorkeling.
But hey, at least I can scratch this off my bucket list!
Anyone up for a kickboxing class?
