Pole Dancing - Sexpot Extraordinaire....

Well, surely I have your attention right now.


I decided, after a two (or so) year hiatus from trying a pole-fit class, which really isn't pole-dancing, that I would.. uh... get back in the saddle and try again.


My last lessons were taught partially by an extremely flexible lady and a very vivacious man who owned a studio in my hometown. This time, I paid the big bucks and went to a place locally...

I imagined myself looking like this (with a slightly rounder silhouette and less boobs):

IF ONLY my ass looked that small... I wouldn't NEED pole-fit class.

And after the first 4 minutes, realized that I wasn't even close to looking THIS cute, even:

This pole dancer even has better hair than I do.... *sigh*

I felt rusty, creaky and clunky as the instructor moved and swayed her hips, seemingly effortlessly, smooth, sleek and in-the-know.

I felt like the biggest fake EVAR. She did a quick run down of level 1 (see, I had done this before, you know, so I figured I could TOTALLY head straight into level 2, maybe even 3)... and I stared, slack-jawed at my inability to figure out a f*cking thing she was doing.

There is such an art to looking graceful while trying to spin and pull yourself up on the pole. There truly is.

My last class involved more running leaps to try to spin around the pole. This new class is more about sensual movement, empowerment, and transitioning effortlessly from falling off the pole, onto your ass, and back up again without looking like you are even trying.


Beginner Pole Fit Fun from Stephanie Cee on Vimeo.


I clearly lack grace, but man, it WAS FUN!!


I have the utmost respect (you know, fitness wise) for girls who pole-dance as professionals. They ARE STRONG, FIT women.

I saw this video on youtube and had to share it.

Check out the crazy move at around 1:31... I can't embed the video... the girl is clothed and should be safe for work, unless someone is looking over your shoulder and wondering why the hell you are looking up pole-fitness tips online at work. lol.

Hopefully I will start to suck less as time goes on.

I attended a chair-fit class on the weekend which included a strenuous, painful series of leg, butt, thigh and arm strengthening moves with a TEENY bit of chair dance at the end.

I woke up ALL night because I was in so much pain.


Good lord, I have a long way to go before I even hit puppy pole-dance cuteness...



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Recumbent Bike From Hell

I have a feeling that when I say I don't care much for exercise, I am not alone.

I mean, don't get me wrong... I know it's really good for me, I want to maintain a  somewhat  not-really-even-close  pretend  healthy body, it's crucial to my well being, and I  DO  don't want to exist as a couch potato.

But it's SO HARD to motivate myself to exercise. The 30-Day Shred has now become the 90-Day Shred (every third day... you do the math! HA!). It's almost approaching the 120-Day-I-Exercise-Sporadically-Not-Quite-"Shred".

I have a wedding dress I must fit in to, but I hear the Hershey Eggies and Cadbury Mini Eggs calling my name. The Bulk Barn had me on a watch list.

So I decide to mosey on down to a little hole-in-the-wall gym.

It's desolate. It has random tables throughout. It has some ancient gym equipment.

And two recumbent bikes (what, don't judge, a regular bike is NOT a woman's friend. It hurts the junk. There, I said it).

NORMAL person recumbent exercise biking? riding? cycling.

I get my gym gear on. I try to do some Jillian Michaels' warm-up moves by memory. Big muscle-y dudes are watching and judging me. I fail with my memory recall, and half-ass my moves.

I am quite certain I look like I am mildly challenged.

So not PC, but yet, so accurate.

I proceed to the recumbent bike, I get on, adjust the seat.... and find there are no fucking foot straps to hold my feet in.

Seriously?... REALLY?

Who presents so much of a threat to themselves and a gym's insurance policy, that they require restraint-less foot pedals on a bike that doesn't have direct downward gravity on its side?

For once, not me.

For the next 35 minutes, I struggle to keep my feet from flying off the foot pedals.

I was water bottle-less, watching eleventeen year olds silently batting eyes at each other and holding hands on a muted television tuned to MTV, while they pumped 106.1 K-Lite FM radio in the background.

The soundtrack to my workout?

Kissed By A Rose, by Seal.

Christ.

With a little more "light hits from the 80s, 90s and today" and a little less cowbell/enthusiasm/interest. And slightly less feathers.

This is why I hate exercising.

That is all.

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