pole dancing

Clearly, I am little more than a forty-something cliché. My hormones have me thinking of nothing but sex at the oddest times…no, all the time. And, now, in addition to all those stereotypical, 40-year-old divorcee, cougar-ish things one might say about me, I’ve finally sealed the deal:  I signed up for pole dancing classes.

Don’t blame me; it was a Groupon! And my girlfriend wanted to go, too! This is for fitness, people!

Here are some observations:

  • No, this is not — as one of my male friends suggested — hot. There is nothing about this forty-something woman with an average, curvaceous figure and absolutely no skills awkwardly flailing around a pole that could be even remotely appealing to anyone. Unfortunately, I do not ever envision getting good enough at this for it to be described as “hot!” Still, I did ask, in jest, whether placement services were offered.
  • My body is killing me after class; it must be doing some good. I have an entirely newfound respect for this profession…who knew how hard these women work to do what they do?! My body aches for days after each lesson!
  • Weekday classes are definitely more “core” (read trashy). I learned a few cool moves, but the girls in the mid-week classes were definitely working to earn their keep. These were not the urban girls with professional day jobs in my weekend classes.

I’ve since shared these new endeavors with a few close friends (i.e. everyone within talking range) and I’ve learned a few things:  Apparently this is even more mainstream than I thought. One woman I met mentioned it had been featured on 60 Minutes. While I don’t have that link for you, I did find this clip from CBS News.

No, I don’t look like that. Not yet, anyway.

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About failedatforty


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