I tried a pole dancing class…
I had heard that it’s a really good workout (I mean is who doesn’t secretly dream of being able to swing around a pole hanging on only by your legs?), so I decided to check it out with a friend the other weekend.
As soon as the instructor entered the room, a voluptuous woman wearing neon pink spandex underwear and a sports bra, I knew I was going to come out a changed woman. She began demonstrating the warm up: “Face down, ass out, face down, ass out,” she yelled. She shook her backside at an alarming speed before jumping into a spread-eagle position on her back, gyrating her hips in the air.
What did I get myself in to?
As the class progressed, everyone took off their shirts and danced in sports bras and tiny booty shorts, while I sweated away in my t-shirt and workout pants. During the back-spins on the pole, my hands screeched all the way down and I landed unceremoniously on the floor. It was nearly impossible for me to find my “inner stripper” during the free-style portion of the class.
I guess my dreams of being Demi Moore in Striptease are going to have to wait. I went ahead and signed up for yoga tomorrow night.