Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Pole Dancing and Me

I've always believed that I should write what I want to know, rather than what I do know. Learning something new makes writing fiction a full-on blast. But sometimes I cheat. Like when I wrote exotic dance scenes in Management Skills, I ended up relying on my general dance experience.

But ever since, I've wondered... shouldn't I find out what exotic dancing is all about? I got my chance last Friday when one of our local pole dance studios (yes, we have two!) offered a trial class for 5 bucks. Armed with curiosity and a full water bottle, I went. The instructor was cute as a button, wearing some sort of tiny volleyball shorts and jogbra. Happily, she was patient and a skilled teacher. She started out with stretches and upper-body strengthening exercises. I should've known I'd be in trouble when she started doing one-armed planks.

Soon we were learning mini-routines on the pole. Arm strength is critical. Why? Because pole-dancing is actually not dancing; it's gymnastics. It is an athletic event. The pole is made up of some sort of material that's supposed to stick well to skin. Evidently, a bare thigh squeeze can help hold a person up. Hence the instructor's volleyball shorts. Unfortunately, I wore super long shorts, sometimes known as pants. So no thigh squeeze for me. I had to hang and slide and twirl using my upper-body.

Which brings me to the subject of sexiness and pole dancing. Grimacing and grunting and landing in a meaty heap is not normally considered sexy. Let's just say I tried hard. But the instructor did teach us a little routine we could do on the floor. I convinced myself I was even graceful doing it. I committed the little dance to memory, intending to show my husband.

I performed my floor dance for him. He found it... inspiring.

The pole-dance class left me with aching shoulders and arms. I hurt for two days. I still have bruises on my inner and outer thighs and ankles. I can't wait to go to class again.

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