Challenge #6 Pole Dancing

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We walked up the narrow staircase. The white walls were pushing in on all sides. If only the staircase could go on forever or at least long enough to think of a way to excuse myself politely from the pole dancing gathering and to disappear into the night. No such luck. Almost immediately we reached the door at the top of the stairs. I felt my face burning while imagining all of the embarrassing moments to come. I looked at the beautiful wooden door frame, left in its natural state.

“If I pass this threshold,” I thought, “there is no going back.” Turning slowly, I stopped to see other women following me up, clogging what little space there was between me and the exit.

“In we go.” I thought.

A friend had asked me to take the class and I, completely caught off guard  and curious about the hype, cheerfully agreed. We stepped through the door and walked into a room with high ceilings, dotted with poles reaching into the heavens.

Moving on in the direction pointed out to me, I entered the bathroom to get changed. It was quite small. I constantly had the feeling that everything was looking at me, the walls, the ceilings, the floor, all pressing in surprised to see me there and curious to see whether I would choose to rise to the occasion.

A friend had once counseled me in times of insecurity and slight distress to channel my inner Beyoncé. I looked for her desperately, calling out to her to guide me through the maze of poles and lead me to sexy displays of body movement. She appeared to me in that small, cramped bathroom. The walls, floors, ceiling, and I all looked at her in surprise. My inner Beyoncé was sitting in front of a warm fireplace, wearing a velvet robe. She had a good book in one hand and a steaming hot chai topped with a light almond milk froth in the other. She was smiling at me with a look that said “Wish you were here.”

“Resist!” I found myself saying and the soft image of her disappeared in a determined cloud of smoke. “Thanks for nothing, Imaginary Beyoncé!” I wondered if I could summon the real one, but the thought faded, when I remembered that class would be starting in just a few minutes. I rallied myself. “You can’t always hide yourself under two meters of velvet. At some point the butterfly must leave her cocoon and twerk it out.”

The room began to fill up with women, the regulars taking their positions in their favorite parts of the room. I looked around lost, like the kid searching for a friend in a big cafeteria of strangers. Eating alone at a table amongst a crowd of unfamiliar faces seemed harmless, maybe even pleasant, when one had the juxtaposition of stripping for them.

“Find your partners!” the teacher instructed. “Newbies go together with the advanced.”

For the first time I had the courage to look around the room and to observe with whom I had the honor of sharing this delightfully raunchy experience. In the corner was a tall woman. The legs of her short shorts shook hands between her thighs. Long and lanky, she swung around the pole as if it were her second home.

In the center of the room two had begun to dance. One of them a mother dressed in short, tight shorts and a sports bra. Marks where her skin had been stretched by the beginnings of motherhood covered her stomach and yet there she stood, half-naked and beautiful. Curly hair everywhere, falling down her shoulders and arms. The room was full of women with the most diverse skin tones, attitudes and body shapes, and I stood in awe of the beauty of them all.

“You’re with me!” said a chipper voice from behind. I started. My stomach rumbled, and I turned to face my partner. A young, vibrant woman with an inviting smile, beautiful curves and shiny black hair stood ready to pull me on the pole journey. I could feel her openness and warmth burning away my misgivings.

We were instructed to begin with an easy spin around the pole. I placed one hand as high as I could onto the pole. I walked around the pole slowly, like a lioness, stalking her prey. I put my other hand an arm’s length below the other. Suddenly, I pushed off with my inside foot, stretching out my legs, allowing my body to swing around the pole. I landed on my foot, albeit the wrong one, still feeling the breeze of the spin on my face. I had done it! I had taken the first step.

My more advanced partner and I took turns practicing different moves. After a few rounds it was her turn to try a new move. She jumped onto the pole and began pulling herself up and up and up and up until she was close to the very top. She slowly slid down smiling widely.

“Did you see? Did you see?” She asked the teacher beaming, proud of the first time that she, after months of training, had climbed the pole. I felt touched that I was able to witness such a triumphant moment, the result of hard work and perseverance.

My teacher then called us to the middle of the room to conclude the class. We were instructed to sit together, forming a circle.

“Oh no, not a circle,” I thought. I knew what was coming. Circles in classrooms were always a bad omen. Usually some victim could be found at the middle of it, making a fool of himself.

It was time to twerk.

“Beyoncé, where are you?!” I called. Each began to twerk, one after the other. The dancer would tap you on the shoulder when it was your turn to move into the middle.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, and suddenly, a womanly figure appeared in a light cloud of smoke. Beyoncé stood before me. Under her velvet robe had been a black one-armed leotard and 6-inch heels the entire time. She took a sip of her golden glass of champagne, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Add joy, let go of the shame, and twerk it out!”

So I got on my feet put my hands on my knees, stuck my butt out and began doing “The Tick”. It is an old move my friends and I used to do at the dance parties at boarding school. It’s like a combination of doing “the butt” and the “pop and lock” with your chest and hips.

I looked around the room to see how my moves were being received. There were some furrowed brows, and I could see that there were some questions… My moves weren’t exactly graceful but it got me a few cat calls, and I survived my 5 seconds of fame.

My long-time friend and I put on some pants, grabbed our coats and went out for drinks. It was a beautiful moment in time. I had stepped out of my comfort zone only to find other kind souls there to encourage me on my path.

No matter one’s personal opinion of pole dancing, one cannot deny that it has opened a door to women embracing their bodies and rejecting ignorant and outdated definitions of sexiness and beauty. The course certainly challenged me to consider how I think of and present my body on a daily basis.

Belonging is one of the greatest gifts life has given us, and I was proud to see that this particular teacher made a specific effort to use pole dancing to restore women to that God given, body positive gift.