Ok. It's time. It's time to get, gulp, fit. It's time to improve my health or something like that. The question is how? Let's see....walking? I already do that with the minimum 45 minute walk a day with the dogs and it has to be said, it ain't toning any part of me.
Hmmm, running? Hahahahahahaha. Unless something is chasing me, that isn't happening. I always say, if you see me running, run! Something is either chasing me or I am running away from imminent danger.
What about these insanity classes? Um, no. The clue is in the title of those classes and I am not that insane. I cannot understand why you would cycle on a bike frantically whilst going nowhere. What's the point? Also your legs do not work properly afterwards, making walking down stairs more than slightly terrifying and funny.
So what did I choose? What hellish torture known as 'exercise' did I opt for? Well, my criteria is easy. I want something fun, something that will strengthen my core and something that I won't get bored with. So I opted for the obvious. Pole dancing. What could possibly go wrong?
So I signed up for four lessons and received my blurb. Where they were, where to park the car, wear a loose t-shirt and shorts, very short shorts, that's it. Ummm, shorts.....shorts.....slight problem. I don't own shorts. I try not to inflict my bright white legs upon the public. They are a safety hazard. As RAF boy tells me, at night when I walk through a dark room, it's like strobe lighting when the moonlight bounces off my legs, humph.
Ok, I can buy shorts. Not a problem. Oh dear Lord, problem. I'm looking in winter when shorts aren't really wanted right now. Shop assistants look at me as if I'm a crazy person when I ask for shorts. Eventually, Primark comes to my rescue with some shorts. I grab them and head into the changing room and suddenly realise that, upon walking through the changing room doors, I have entered a fairytale world and become Goldilocks.
First pair go on and go right down to my knees. I like them, they cover my white thighs but the information said I need short shorts. Ok, second pair. As I hauled this pair over my thighs and up over my hips I gave an inadvertent squeak and went slightly cross eyed. These shorts were indeed short and revealed my thighs. They also revealed my bum cheeks and gave me an all round wedgie! Nope! Off they come in one fluid movement that I'm sure would make most strippers envious (however the move did result in the offending shorts flying up over the cubicle curtain and landing in a cubicle further up where another woman was trying on clothing. I stayed quiet and admitted nothing, sniggering slightly at the scream of surprise). Third pair were just right (well, almost). They were not tight, they did not reveal bum cheeks, they were short enough for pole dancing but not so short that I left nothing to the imagination. The only problem was my pale, milk bottle legs sticking out from them. As I turned around in front of the mirror I was horrified. When did that happen? When? When did I suddenly get cellulite? I started contorting myself in to all sorts of weird and wonderful positions to try and make it go away. Turns out that if I stand like I'm about to go skiing then the cellulite disappears, ha! So off I sexily stalk out of the changing rooms in a squat position as if I'm skiing. I turned some heads that day, let me tell you!
The day arrives. I've got my shorts and t-shirt under my regular clothes and off I go. The room it is held in is in a maze of a building. I was told to take the lift upon entering the building but for love nor money I couldn't find it. I asked the door man and he huffed at me, gestured in a vague way and said "THERE!" I wander off in the direction he motioned at, looking. Suddenly he shouts "NO! THERE!!" I'm really confused and slightly frightened at him shouting at me. He is manically waving towards the plants. Perhaps it's like Platform 9 3/4 and I have to run at the wall and suddenly I'll be in the pole dancing room. I wonder what Harry Potter would have made of that? Instead of a train station, a pole dancing club with Fred and George providing drinks and tricks (not that sort of trick! Magic tricks!)
Suddenly, like a magic eye picture, the door appears before me. It is the tiniest lift, with one tiny door, hidden behind a tree. Of course, where else would it be? I gingerly enter the lift and it creaks and moans as we ascend. When the doors finally open I pause to say a prayer of thanks. Today, I survived the terrifying doorman and the haunted house lift. Off I wander to find the room.
Eventually I find it and I enter, bemused by the fairy lights, spinning poles, tutors in full perfect make up hanging upside down, women in platform sandals spinning around and a guy who I really wish wore shorts and not incredibly tight briefs. I looked away before I was blinded only to be assaulted by a woman doing the V split in barely there briefs. I'm not a prude but I do think it's only polite to buy me a drink before flashing me, especially when I'm stood there thinking "ooh, hon, you need to go and get a wax". Ahem. Well, least said soonest mended.
There were two other beginners there. You could tell we were beginners because we looked out of place and we were wearing shorts, not underwear. The instructor calls all of us over and starts warm up exercises with us. Warm up? I think she's trying to kill me. Star jumps? Why? I am not a star and I've never seen one jump. Squats, aargh, thighs and butt. Then we're on the floor doing stomach crunches and swinging our legs around wildly. When we were finished, I was done. I wanted to crawl home after this torture. Why had I decided to do this? Cheerfully she tells us to grab a pole. I think she means to help us drag ourselves up, which is what I do. She stares at me as I pull myself up using it, groaning all the way. She shakes her head a little, jumps on a pole and starts showing us what we're going to practice.
It's harder than it looks. Apparently I gripped to tightly which is why I was having problems spinning (oo-er missus) but I soon worked it out. Turns out I'm a wee bit of a natural for pole dancing. I can do a chair spin, fire pole spin, V split, angel something and hold myself midway up the pole with just my thighs, oh yeah! It was good fun and, yeah, I was a wee bit proud of myself that I could do the moves.
For the next five days though, I could barely move as I was very aware of my muscles. I tried to roll over in bed that night and couldn't move. It was hilarious. I was like a beached whale trying to roll over. I eventually made it but made a mental note not to move again. The next few days heard me moaning and groaning with every move I made, I'm sure the neighbours think I'm either demented or the house is being haunted by a noisy ghost.
It was a good work out though. It's the kind of work out I enjoy, where you don't feel like you're actually working out and you have fun. I've been a couple of times now and I enjoy it but due to time constraints at the moment, don't know if I'll be able to carry on (classes clash with work). Hmmm, we shall see but I think I will return in the future. I can't let my shorts go to waste :) Until then, if you see a mad redhead spinning round a pole, it's probably me just getting a quick bit of practice in.
Until next time.....
