Why I Had to Walk Away From the Pole

I'm sure many of you are wondering what became of my pole-aerobics class. (Or, you're not, either way, you're getting the answer.) I'm somewhat ashamed to admit this, but I only made it through half of my stripper classes. I could build an elaborate argument about feminist principles or coming to some incredible revelation about female politics and my body, whether or not women should embrace or reject their own objectification, etc.

However, the truth as to why I had to give it all up is as simple as this: bruises.

At one point, my knees were black. Bruises ran from the arches of my feet to my inner thighs. I was wearing long pants constantly to hide all of the marks on my legs. (This is not an easy thing to do in the Alabama summers. It wasn't quite as bad as the August I had to wear mock turtlenecks to class because of an unfortunate hickey, but it was uncomfortable.) Even three weeks after my last attempt at the pole, I found the remnants of a pale brown bruise running along my thigh.

Of course, there were a few other factors -- a lot of them having to do with the fact that I sucked at the exercise. When asked to climb the pole, I couldn't even get on the pole, much less move my body once I was wrapped around it. I had hoped for rock hard arms in time for my sister's wedding. Instead, I was facing a black and blue body and the very real chance that I would never lift my arms above my shoulders again. Eventually, I had to decide -- pain and visible injury or perfecting the c-stand.

I picked the former.

Also, for a class that would seemingly improve one's confidence, I was beginning to think that I would never feel sexy again. Seeing my body attempt these moves, with strained facial expressions, from every mirror in the room made me question by self-image more than the cover of the annual Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

In the end, what I did come away with is a very important (and unexpected) life lesson: if Kevin James looks better engaged in any seductive practice than I do, it's probably time to pack it in for the day/the rest of my life.

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HPa2onPT3Y&hl=en_US&fs=1&w=470&h=385]

More on Me and the Pole

For those of you anxiously awaiting an update on the Pole Yourself Thin/Stripper Aerobics class, here it comes:

1. I cannot wear shorts or skirts because there are bruises that run from my feet all the way up my thighs. I have bruises on my biceps and forearms. If the SO didn't look like such a sweetheart, I worry people would assume he's been beating me. Maybe the near-translucently-pale aren't meant for this line of work. Maybe someone should invent a foam floor. It could be like that memory foam mattress stuff. I'm just saying ... I'd want one even if I wasn't into pole dancing. It just sounds so pleasant.

2. My upper body has no desire to support the weight of my lower body whatsoever. There's a move called the "cartwheel" in which you use your arms to pull your legs up and over to the other side of the pole. My feet want to stay planted just where they are, and my arms want it that way, too. Neither half is willing to give, and neither half listens to a single message sent by my brain.

3. If the class handout (because, yes, we have a syllabus and vocab sheets) says that the exercise is a "comfort move," that exercise is neither comforting nor does it allow the muscles used in it to move the next day. 

4.There is nothing remotely sexy about any of this. Even without the bruises and my lack of talent, if you could see the strain on my face as I even attempt to pole dance, I think there'd be far more pity than attraction. What I imagine if I were to have an actual audience? Cringing, looking away and the occasional "Sweetie, are you going to be OK?" or "Honey, are you stuck?"

5. My dream of making it from beginner to intermediate class dies a little more each and every day.

* This is a photo of the red light district. It seemed kind of appropriate and related to the theme. Again, this is not the easiest subject matter to search on public domain photo sites.

Me, Myself and the Pole

Last night, I finally tried what was probably the hottest exercise trend of 2006 -- stripper aerobics. (I'm only four years behind. If you saw the cell phone I carry, you'd think it was far, far worse.)

In many ways, I feel guilty even talking or writing about my "Pole Yourself Thin" class. I'm pretty sure my father has spent the last 30+ years of his life doing everything in his power to keep me away from anything even remotely resembling a stripper pole, and yet, here I am, paying a woman to teach me moves likes the "seahorse," "pole push off" and "stripper legs."

(In my defense, it was a girlfriend's idea, and it seemed like a fun way to work out in addition to the possible makings of a good story. I'll do a lot for a good story. Plus, you wear normal workout clothes, so no one needs to get too carried away out there.)

When we first arrived, we chose stage names for class, so for two hours yesterday, I was Lola Luscious. ("Lola" is also a name my younger, drunken self enjoyed going by after two a.m. This is really something that probably should not be spoken of, so I'll move on.)

Anyways, then we were taken to our poles and began to learn our first routine. After a quick walk around the pole (on tip toe to simulate high heels, of course), we dove right in to the basic moves like the "kick boxer" and "pole kick." I quickly learned that I have a great fireman (this does involve swinging around the pole), but a terrible crawl. 

One thing I could not get used to? Hearing "Lola cannot get her crawl on!" called out by the teacher from the front of the room time and time again.

I also learned about a little thing called "pole burn," which apparently occurs when one spends too much time on the pole or does not hold the pole properly. When it happens, your skin becomes very red and sore from the wrist to about halfway down the forearm. According to our teacher, it is a difficult injury to explain to your friends and co-workers as well.

So, after two quite eye-opening hours, my entire body is sore (strippers must use muscles I didn't even know I had), and I have a nasty case of pole burn.

It's probably a very good thing that I work from home on Fridays. And I've never been more thankful for my education. 

*Sure, this photo is of a dude doing tai chi, but you'd actually be surprised by how few public domain images that are also family-friendly can be found by typing "stripper" or "pole" in the search field. My logic is that both are exercise, so it's related.