Pole Position

I know my last post was about tango, but I like to mix it up. God forbid I keep up that class act. In my last class my dance partner said to me "YOU ARE NOT THE PILOT!" I put it in caps because this little Argentinian was truly flustered by me. I can't blame him. I've realized that, while I love tango and intend to continue my lessons, I am not a born follower. I can follow if a guy reallllllly knows how to lead, and quite enjoy doing it (following) but some guys think a nudge here or there equals leading, and then I just find myself taking over. These guys I was dancing with were the dance equivalent of a limp handshake.

So this week I decided it was time to go partner dance with an inanimate object. Groupon sent us the option to buy 4 poledancing classes for a steal, and I forwarded it to a some girlfriends, the ones I had a sneaking suspicion would be interested. I meant it as a joke/dare more than anything, but then the first email response "I got mine! When are we going?" showed up in my inbox. Before I knew it, 5 of us were set up and we began class.

Now, I really tried not to judge. Sure, there were jokes being emailed back and forth about going to "Stripper High" and debating exactly what one should wear for this form of "fitness". But I was open minded about it.
The night of our debut class we eventually found our way to the studio, which was a small, one-room office backed up to a cheap Chinese restaurant, a car dealership, and Denny's. It wasn't promising, but again, trying not to judge. I also tried not to judge when the door opened and we walked in and the "office" was a card table. I mean, not even a $25 craigslist desk, a straight up card table. I thought, hey, maybe they're renovating! But let's just say the ambiance did little to make us feel that we weren't, well, strippers.

I filled out the Emergency Contact form and handed it over before realizing I had put my father as the point of contact. Um, oops.

We put on our high heels and workout clothes and lined up at the poles. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that my shoes were 4 inch gold heels. When in Rome, people.

Before beginning, we were quickly instructed to clean the poles off. Now, sadly, I know this is what strippers actually have to do - I once cheered a depressed friend up by taking him to a strip club on a Monday night. Apparently Monday night is amateur night (that's a joke, but only slightly). In between dancers each girl would walk up with her bottle of Windex and paper towel. There's something to be said for ambiance, I'll say it again.

So there we were, wiping down the poles with rubbing alcohol. Which leads me to wonder, um, exactly *who* is taking these classes? I take all sorts of athletic and dance classes, but this is the first time I've been asked to formally disinfect the equipment (and nevermind that we were using the same 4 washcloths every other girl had used, so not really sure I see the point).

Class begins.

The instructor walks up, and isn't quite what I imagined she'd look like, but she had beautiful legs. The rest of her was busted street. Honestly, she might have been cute, but she refused to smile, so I will continue to call her Busted Street. I have to confess there was some discussion as to whether she was possibly pregnant. I say that not to judge her body type but because we were in actual amazement if she could flip upside down and in and around with a baby in there. But we decided (courtesy of 2 of my friends, doctors on hand) that she was just "not holding it in". She was wearing stripper shoes and offered us a good deal on a pair if we wanted them. Talk about putting the platform before the pole!

The first move we learned was "Sexy Walk". And here's what I have to say about that: if you have to call it Sexy Walk, chances are it ISN'T. There's nothing like watching yourself in a full length mirror, with dim lighting for an hour to realize how sexy you are or are not. Then we moved to swinging around the pole (easier than it looks). My friend later remarked to me that "I just spent an hour realizing how sexy I'm not. This was a beginner class?? I should be in remedial then."

I did alright, a few spins here, some smooth moves there. But I fully lost it when we got to floor moves. For 20 minutes we were basically recreating scenes from glam rock videos. ("Goddess pose!" she'd yell, without a drop of irony) I mean, we were a step short of going out to the parking lot and rolling around the sports cars at the dealership next door.

Our instructor was ornery, which of course just made me laugh more. We'd crack jokes, but she wasn't having it. She wanted us to pole dance like our lives depended on it. Unfortunately just a peek to my left would reveal my friend (a doctor by day) swinging around the pole hollering "I wanna be a stripppppppppeeeeeeer! I wanna beeeeeee a strippeeeeeeer!" like a kid who'd been let loose after eating a Costco size bag of sugar. The instructor didn't laugh. Apparently there is a line between pole fitness and stripping. Who knew?

Toward the end, our instructor proudly informed us that she'd be competing in a reality show. "Just like American Idol!" Um, but *not*?! Reality tv at its best, I'm sure. Oh so sorry I missed it.

So the good news is that pole dancing is really fun. The bad news is people who do this actually take themselves seriously. And now I might have to too.