At the beginning of September, I decided to take a pole dancing class. Now, those who know me know that this is pretty much the last thing I would normally do. So why do it? A couple of reasons. One: I've been struggling with the Latin side of ballroom dance - I can't seem to move my hips enough and I've never really felt sexy while doing it. So, primary objective was to move my hips more and be comfortable being sexy. Two: Every year I do something new that I have never considered doing before (last year was belly dancing - epic failure - and the year before that was ballroom dancing - which I would consider successful).
Anyway, I approached the first class with optimism tempered with just a little bit of fear. I was pretty sure that being sexy would not come naturally to me, and given how clumsy I can be, I wasn't so sure the whole leaving the ground thing was going to work out for me. I arrived at the studio on that fateful first day, met the other women in the class and was immediately struck with the sense that this was not going to go well. You see, I am not what you would call petite, or delicate, which are exactly the words that would be used to describe these other women. They all maxed out at 5'4" and about a size 3. I, on the other hand, am 5'10" and, while by no means fat, I am fairly densely packed (which, as I would soon find out, works against me when trying to get off the ground).
Class started with a basic warm-up - walking in a circle, stretching out various muscles as we did so - which was great, right up until we had to start doing a "sexy walk". The walk itself wasn't too hard (really just time to practice my rumba walks). The hard part came when the instructor told us to let our hands "wander". Everyone else in the class - no problem, the movements look natural, alluring, like they are supposed to. Me - not so much. From there we moved to the floor routine which went pretty much as you would expect. It started when we were told to grab a mat and leave it folded in half. I looked at how much room everyone else was working with, I looked at how much I was working with, and lets just say I could have used another mat. Being somewhat of a giant compared to everyone else, my movements were ever so much less graceful and sensuous - more like a wrestler training for a match than a woman trying to seduce a man. Throughout the floor routine, we were supposed to flirt, toss our hair, all those girly things that women are instinctively supposed to know how to do. Now, I've had time to reflect on this, and my theory is that a) I don't have the "Sexy Gene" or b) if I do have it, it is completely overridden by my "Geek Gene".
After struggling through the flirting, booty shaking and hip rolling, we moved to the pole, or, as I like to think of it, that friggin' brass instrument of torture. We started with a sexy walk around the pole (naturally, I failed) and then moved onto pole turns (which did not involve trying to be sexy or leaving the ground, so I wasn't too bad at them) and then came the pole hold. That was when things really went South. For the pole hold, you are supposed to grip the pole with both hands, at eye level, lean into it so your chest and upper stomach are on the pole, lift one foot, then the other, and slide gracefully down the pole. Well, I managed up to getting both feet off the floor. After that, well, I was anything but graceful. I didn't slide down the pole, I plummeted. (To quote Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory "Ah Gravity, thou art a heartless bitch!"). THUNK! I landed with an audible bang, causing everyone to look in my direction. Determined not to let it get me down (so to speak), I got back up to try it again. Before I did, I watched some of the other women try it. No THUNK, from any of them. I gave it another shot. THUNK! OW! This time I had landed on my already bruised knees. The class continued for another 15 minutes, me trying desperately to land without noise (something I never did get). I related this story to my family and they dubbed me "Thumpalina".
At home that night, I surveyed the damage - both knees covered in bruises - and hoped that the class would get better in the weeks to come. Needless to say, it didn't. In the weeks that followed, I "learned" the Fireman's Spin (both ankles bruised, plus a spectacular one approximately 6" by 2" on my right calf), the Showgirl-Pole over-Stripper kick combination (almost whacked my head on the pole), the Reverse spin (bruises on both ankles, my left calf, and a series of them on my left bicep that looked like track marks), the kick-squat-body wave combination (almost took out the woman on the pole next to me) and the pole slide (bruised back). Keep in mind that the bruises from previous weeks never had any real chance to heal - they were just compounded week after week. So, at the end of the 6 week session, I am like a walking over-ripe banana. My friend Claudina, after starting to refer to the class as "The Torture Chamber", commented that its a good thing I'm not in a relationship or people would be reporting my boyfriend for abuse.
At the last class, the other women were discussing how they had installed poles in their homes, and how excited their boyfriends were. They talked about doing "shows" for their fellas and I thought about some time in the future, what would happen if I tried to do a show for whoever I end up with. The image that came to mind was one of a pole in a bedroom and me, in a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads and shin guards (ummm, lusty, lusty!). That was what was going through my mind when one of the other ladies asked me if I was going on to the next level. What I wanted to say was "HELL NO! What do you think I am, a masochist?" but I was slightly more tactful than that, simply saying that I don't think pole dancing is for me, but its been an interesting experience.
Well, my original thoughts - that I am not naturally sexy, or very adept at leaving the ground without hurting myself - turned out to be true. With that, I have told my friends that if I ever, ever, get the bright idea to do something like this again, they are to stop me, IMMEDIATELY!
Life Lesson: Challenge yourself to do things you think you can't do. Worst case scenario, your original hypothesis was correct, and don't we all love being right?
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