midlife woman tries pole dancing

embodiment, inhibition, and the rarity of play

The instructor’s name was Felicia, a short, curvy Latina somewhere under 30, and she was nearly late for her own class. Scurrying up to the locked door where a few of us were gathered, she giggled apologies, arms full and key waving. She’s a giggler, Felicia, but not annoyingly so, and mostly at her own sex jokes — which were legitimately funny and made me giggle, too. It goes without saying that I was obsessed with her right from the start.

Once she’d gotten us newbies acclimated (“Shoes go here, and if you need WIFI, the password is ‘Stripper,’ with a dollar sign for the S”), Felicia undressed her outer layers to reveal a long swath of brown fabric wrapped around her torso and coordinating booty shorts. (Shorts, apparently, are a requisite for pole class, but I’d missed the memo and had to apologetically roll up my yoga pants above the knee. Sexy McSexyton here, reporting for duty.)

On mats, we began what’s known as floor work. Being a pole virgin, I assumed that floor work just meant stretching, but my assumptions were corrected when the hip grinding began and instructions became less “touch your toes” and more “throw that ass back and show us how you’re feelin’ yourself.”

My vinyasa yoga class, this was not.

But the difference was exhilarating, a needful balance to the forms of exercise I’d always participated in before. While those have made me feel strong and powerful, this was an invitation into play and sensuality, a much more vulnerable space to occupy among strangers. I was struck by the rare sense of felt safety, present not just because of the all-female environment (though that was an important component) but too because of the chance to break from inhibition.

Most of my classmates were in their twenties — some barely so — and I thought about how lucky they were to have this kind of outlet at their age. Integrating the various parts of ourselves, instead of repressing or cowering in fear of them, is critical for human development and the earlier we learn what it feels like to do so, the better. Pole dancing class is certainly not the only way, but it’s one more way than was available when I was 20.

But here, I’ll admit my bias. I couldn’t help but think of how much more fun the class would have been had I stacked it with my most liberated girlfriends; how we would’ve gyrated devilishly and howled with laughter and purred over each other’s beauty. I had forgotten how insecure college girls are, how self-consciousness limits and hinders. Social conditioning makes young women scared to grow older, but good God I would go back for nothing.

We transitioned to the poles, each assigned to our own, and Felicia walked us through a few basic moves. The softness of her full figure betrayed incredible physical prowess, and she easily glided through positions my arms didn’t have any hope of strength for. She was not just at home in her body, she loved being in it; this was obvious from the way she moved, the way she flipped her hair, the scandalous things she said and the easeful smirk with which she said them. I recognized myself in her, a part of myself that I like, that I’ve always liked.

Wrapping my hand around the pole for the first time, I balked. What if I wasn’t strong enough to do it? Had growing and birthing four babies doomed me to a fate of slithering down the cold steel into a heap of crumpled abdominal wall?

Thankfully, I found enough remaining muscle mass to stay upright. I learned some very basic tricks and got a kick out of the feeling of spinning around, suspended in the air. It was fun — but it was hard. My poor aging body might be hurting for the next few days. As a form of exercise, I could take it or leave it. But as an embodiment practice, it was really valuable.

Am I glad I did it? Hell yeah. Would I do it again? Only if I could get a gaggle of foul-mouthed middle aged women to come along.