Yesterday I tried pole dancing for the first time, and today my arms complain whenever I lift them up. My legs have bruises and my thighs are sore, but I have to tell you that I feel absolutely magnificent!

I have always been curious about pole dancing. It is the idea of flight that fascinates me. The way pole dancers perform in mid-air is amazing. It takes an extraordinary amount of strength and skill to execute those moves, not to mention courage. I mean, you’re literally hanging on to dear life from a pole!

Confession: One colleague is into pole and aerial dancing, and I always get excited whenever she gives an update about her latest choreography. I would then tell myself to register in a class, but for one reason or another I never follow through. Or I always make excuses not to follow through. 

“I don’t have time.” “There’s not a studio near me.” “I am too old.” “What if I fall?” “What if I fail?” Excuses, excuses, excuses.

I finally found the courage to book a class last week. And yes, it’s because of the YOLO thing. If I never tried it, how would I know if I liked it or not? The thought of my age did slip my mind, but heck, who cares? In all likelihood, I wouldn’t know any of the other participants in the class. If I did, well I would have been comforted no end.

I came in early, and the studio was still closed. I instantly thought that maybe this was destiny telling me not to take the class. Mwahahaha! But then, the teacher came shortly afterwards and there was no backing out.

It was supposed to be a 60-minute class but our teacher was generous with her time. And because half the class knew each other, they took to practicing their moves.

We did warm-ups for the first few minutes or so, a combination of dynamic stretches and mobility work, some of which I’ve done myself from the dozen or so workouts I have tried through the years. I congratulated myself for being able to follow the movements.

I celebrated way too early, of course, because the real work began as soon as the warm-up ended.

Now, it was just me and the pole, and I was freaking terrified. What should I do? How should I do it?

Mercifully, our teacher saved me. She placed me in front of the room where she can keep an eye on me, the eldest of the pack, and proceeded to guide me. At one point, she even lifted my big, fat ass so I could execute a movement. She was firm, but consoling. “Small steps. Take small steps.”

It was a matter of getting familiar with the pole, trusting it would hold me. It was a matter of trusting my body, knowing it would not fail me. 

One of the first things that I learned: I had to use different parts of my body in order to move. I wasn’t hanging on to dear life with my hands. I had to do so with my feet, my legs, my thighs, my ass, my hips, my back, my elbows, my underarms. It was a whole body workout. 

I paced myself. Working the pole was difficult. My hands would get all sweaty, and I’d panic that I’d fall. It was a mind game.

After some time though, I was able to gain a modicum of confidence. This is when I finally learned how to lock my inner thighs in a grip on the pole, and do the foundational layout position. 

With my inner thighs locked, I extended my legs, pushed my hips forward, leaned back, freed up one hand, and let gravity swing me. I cannot believe it! For a second there I was in mid-air, swinging! And it was the sweetest thing!  

I did not fall. I did not fail. I was in a slow, satisfying fling. 

I would attempt to do some more positions afterwards, including trying to climb up the pole in what I could only surmise must have looked all clingy and clumsy. It didn’t matter, my day was made! 

Would I do it again? In all likelihood, yes, but let me give my arms some tender, loving care first! Mwahahaha