Dance class dropout, for now
Out of curiosity, I took a trial poledance class last night. Hey, it’s something I told myself I would try at least once and discovering that there was such a class in the city was a stroke of luck. So off I went to the studio and immediately began feeling like an unworthy tree stump. All the women in the class were wearing teeny tiny tops and even teenier shorts and, because I did not know the protocol and dress code for a poledancing class, I was clad in a white shirt and blue track pants that I had to fold up to an inch above my knees.
So anyway, I kept up with the warm-up exercises just fine, but I have to admit that my appearance in the mirror distracted me mightily, especially when we finally took to the poles. I could hoist myself up on the pole well enough, but I looked more like a koala clinging to a tree. I had to quit the class about fifteen minutes in, because they were doing routines that required thighs to be in constant contact with the pole, something I could not accomplish since my folded-up pants weren’t short enough. Of course, there’s also the fact that I couldn’t even look half as graceful as this chicken right here.
(Chicken GIF not mine or made by me. Whoever made this is a hero.)
Note: The routines taught were nothing like what that chicken is doing, by the way. They were more like this.
So, even with the blow to my self-esteem brought about by the sight of tall and lithe classmates, will I go back to that class at some point in the future? Damn right I will. From what I saw, poledancing is far from mindless and merely sexy; it requires massive upper body and core strength, among other things. It is tough as hell. So yes, I think I’ll go back there. Right after I get me some appropriate shorts.