It was suggested by golf husband to look into personal training. (I don't think he was indicating that I had gone flabby, but knows it would be a good use of my time. That's what I tell myself anyway.) We are very fortunate that his employer promotes fitness and provides a membership to a gym. I do enjoy going to the gym and why not learn a few moves that would get me bikini ready?
One day I walked into the gym and the staff has set out a display of workout drink samples. I choose one that I thought would be safe, but it tastes a little like what I imagine is children's orange flavored cough syrup. There happened to be a lady who was a personal trainer sampling as well. We struck up a conversation and I asked her how the whole training thing worked.
We sat down and she went over the numbers and looked at her schedule. Turns out she would be gone for a few weeks because she was going to the Bahamas and then to Vegas. She said something to the tune of "live like a Kardashian" for the time that she would be away. I immediately knew she and I would get along and this is the person who I want to not only train me, but maybe go on vacation with.
Turns out my trainer is pretty good at what she does and she is no slouch in the area of sarcasm, which endears me to her more than the fact that I'm going to be able to bounce a quarter off my tush by doing all these lunges.
Last week I get a late phone call from a friend who invites me to go see Madonna in concert. YES! I don't think I even let her ask me. So, I get to mark that off the old bucket list. I just felt like I got asked to the prom, but better. I don't think I was ever this excited about being asked to the prom as I am about going to see Madonna in concert. We're getting cone bras and everything!!! (That was a joke... maybe.)
A few days later at my training session, I get asked if I would be interested in going to this pole dancing class on Sunday. WTF! I should go out and by a frickin' Lotto ticket, because I'm on fire! YES! Not only do I get asked to the Madonna Prom, but now I get to pole dance. Two things off my bucket list (even though Madonna isn't until November.) This is one of the best weeks of my life!
I texted golf husband to make sure he was okay with me being gone for a few hours on Sunday and him being left alone with the kids. It was approximately 4 seconds before he called back with questions:
- Is this a joke?
- Who are you going with?
- Where is it being held?
- What do you wear to a thing like that?
- Can I watch?
- Why is it on Sunday? Isn't that wrong or something?
And these were my responses:
- No.
- My trainer. We've decided it would be part of my "cross-training" program. There will be a big group of girls.
- Some place called Exotica or Erotica or something like that. (Giggling)
- Something slutty. I don't know. Workout clothes.
- I don't think the other women would want you there, so no. I'll report back what I learn.
- I'm not sure why it is on Sunday. Maybe the instructor allows time in the morning to go to church first. It's not like we're stripping or pole dancing for money. I'm sure God would be okay with it.
The plan was to meet my trainer at the gym and then we would meet the other girls at Hacienda's for lunch and margaritas. We needed a little liquid alcohol to loosen our muscles... and our pride.
We get to the restaurant and the other women are there. I thought I was doing pretty good wearing some biker shorts and my lucky shirt, which is a St. Patrick's day shirt that is green and has "My Lucky Shirt" written in sparkly white block print. I needed some luck on that pole, right? Then another lady who works at the gym trumps me. She is not only wearing her old roller derby shirt that has "Anita Margarita" written on the back in sequins, but also is sporting these undies over her stretch pants that say TEQUILLA. It was then that I decided if I go on vacation, I'm bringing my trainer and Anita Margarita. Fun would definitely find us.
There was eight in our group and we arrived at Exotica. Turns out Exotica isn't a gym at all. It is a sex shop that also carries smoking paraphernalia. When we walked in a sales lady complimented my shirt and pointed out they had St. Patrick's Day shirts, but their's said, "FUCK ME I'M IRISH." Classy.
We paid for the class and signed our waivers. Yes, waivers. We won't sue in case we injure ourselves dancing on a pole.
We worked our way to the back of the store past the Re-entry Lube, Vibrators, and stripper wear and on into this tiny room that only had two poles. We had 10 girls in there including the instructor and two poles. This means that we would be watching while we waited our turn, in a tiny room, hot as balls, and with thumping booty-shaking music.
The instructor wasn't so great at instructing. She could do some tricks on the pole, but I'm not sure if she took formal classes if you know what I mean. This had me thinking that with some internet surfing and studying there was a business opportunity here.
We were told at the end of class that we could get 20% any item in the store. So, we browsed around giggling. There were a few shoppers in there that had probably not gone to church that morning.
My trainer bought a pole-dancing book. Her wheels were definitely turning on the $180 for one hour of teaching pole dancing. We discussed how we could definitely make it work at the gym on the way back to my car.
I learned a few things about myself in this class. The dance training from my youth came in handy for gracefulness. Pole dancing is hard and it hurts. It takes a lot of upper body strength and flinging yourself around a pole. I'm pretty sure the bruising will go away. The final thing that I learned is that I may not have played competitive sports, I did compete in dancing (the innocent kind like tap, ballet, and jazz) and I kind of felt the pressure to really get this stuff down. My goal was to get upside-down and I did. I may have looked like a frog and slid down the pole in slow torturing skin-burning motion, but I did it. AND, Anita Margarita who is a full-figured type of girl did the worm, so I got my twenty-dollars worth of entertainment.
If you can't laugh at yourself, then who can you really laugh at. Just so you know, I have the upmost respect for someone who can pole dance. Have you seen these world competitors. They are awesome. It's nothing sexual at all. Here is a little video of Felix Cane who is a world champion pole dancer.
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