clinging to the pole, attempting to woo the mirror
Walking down the reassuringly named Easey Street, I had no idea what I was in for. The building was a bit hard to find and the studio was up the stairs and a u-turn to the left. On arrival I found a few other newbies and we became instant friends, bound by the nervous uncertainty of having to take one's pants off at any given moment. There was a wall-mounted TV showing pole competitions in which costume-clad dancers did impossible things with their legs, and a row of glitzy, plastic platform heels for purchase. We waited.
A dancer from the Pole Fetish website
The class began sans heels, with barefoot warm-ups that involved lots of hip rotations and a few squats and stretches. We then moved into "fillers", which are basically the swirly, vaguely provocative movements that go in between tricks, allowing dancers to catch their breath and ready themselves for something more daring. We learnt something that involved a lot of thigh muscle and a slow figure-eight, as well and some dips and stands.
It was a small class, only six people, and four of us were new. The instructor was chatty and competent and we were soon laughing (perhaps in unified desperation) at the smiling ease with which she swung herself in all manner of directions and held all manner of poses between floor and ceiling. My class, I'll admit, seemed unduly talented, with all of us mastering body rolls straight away, as well as some rather confusing reverse spins. Step in, step next, grab and hold, and swing… We were promised sore legs the next day but I found I got more pain in my hands, perhaps from vice-gripping the pole as I clung, half-way up, in what can only be described as a vaguely sensual waddling-duck pose, attempting to woo my own reflection.
Overall I'd say it was a raging success.
A much more achievable pose! Image from the Pole Fetish website