Putting Your Best Foot Forward (In Hooker Heels)

One of the things I have already been asked several times is, “Can you really do all 50 things on your list in a year?” Also and sometimes in same breath, “That’s almost one a week.”

Yes I realize that. Which means I have been really intentional in looking at the ENTIRE year as I plan (as opposed to just jotting in the important dates of birthdays, holidays and conferences/classes already scheduled).

It also means being very conscientious of time and opportunity. In the past week I saw a Meetup posted for an overnight backpacking trip over the 1st weekend in February to the backcountry shelter at Mt. LeConte. HIKE SUMMIT IN GSMNP IN SNOW. I contacted the organizer, got on the thumbs up, have already ordered Kahtoola Microspikes, a sleep bag warmer liner, more base layers, and a winter pair of Salomon boots and started organizing my gear. I didn’t hem and haw around. I took action.

Now I’m just hopeful the weather cooperates.

I have joined the YMCA and started back on my Couch to 5k running plan and contacted a swim coach so I can begin some private lessons in the next couple of weeks. And have already received a new swimsuit suitable to lap swimming that I ordered before the new year.

I have scheduled Potter Wheel class at Claying Around and a floatation tank appointment for February. Meanwhile I also am using an Apple Holy Bible app to do my read Bible in 365 program each morning and Headspace for my meditation practice.

I also noticed a POLE DANCE CLASS for beginners drop in that was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. So I decided to get it over with early.

Except I didn’t realize I had to register in advance (the notion of drop in and all). I went online on Saturday morning to make sure I had correct address and decided since it SAYS register online that maybe I would. Just in case.

The error message popped up that class was not available. Sigh. I was already near Asheville, and dressed in what I assumed might be suitable attire (workout clothes and shoes). Should I just go to the Y instead to workout? Should I see when next drop in class was available, go ahead and register, then go home?

I called and left a quick voice mail for the director asking if they had ANY more spots open. Then I killed some time in a local health food store.

UNTIL THE PHONE RANG. “This is Kathleen from DanceClub Asheville and we do have ONE more space available. ”

“I’ll be there by 1:15 to pay and sign whatever. Thanks!” Click, and I’m rushing out of the store with my great buys on shiritaki fettuccini noodles and pork rinds.

I rush into the studio, first one there for the class and realize I am probably way overdressed and impossibly awkward. There is a lovely display of glitzy club attire, and high heels. Like hooker high, platform, even lucite heels.

I haven’t worn heels over 2 inches in decades. And most of those were wedges.

Sturdy, sensible, and certainly not club worthy.

Handing Kathleen, the instructor, my cash I tell her about the #50for50 and how my younger and gorgeous friends Ashley and Sadie had suggested this for my list. She obviously can see the “deer in the headlights” look on my face and assures me there are women of all sizes and ages and abilities that take classes there.

She also offers that there are loaner high heels in the studio. There is a slight edge of challenge in her voice. Like she is encouraging me to take a walk on the wild side.

I am already at a pole dance class so that seemed wild enough. Besides I could break an ankle or something.

I ask sheepishly, “But can I just go barefoot since this is my first class?”

Her delicate dancer’s shoulder raises ever so slightly. She continues to smile knowingly but says, “Of course you can.”

I headed into the back of the studio to the pole room. Not sure if that is what they call it but that is what it is. The front room is for other types of classes like belly dancing (YES I am checking on when I can go).

The pole room however is disco dark including spinning silvery disco ball already in motion. Club music already playing at a moderate level from the corner up near the mirror wall.

Shedding jacket and non essentials in a cubby I wander a bit looking at posters of the pole dancer of the month.

I am not in Kansas anymore.

The room has 4 ceiling height silver poles and one shorter pole that is on a platform that apparently can turn.

Not your typical dance studio. Not that I would know since I have only been in dance studios a couple of times in my life. I never took ballet or jazz or tap or hip hop.

Although admittedly I did enjoy a bit of breakdancing as a teenager I was not formally taught.

Other attendees start to wander in and I realize I am literally standing with my arms crossed in front of myself like I am trying to hide the fact I am a middle aged woman surrounded by younger women including a bachelorette party of 5. I have a daughter their age or perhaps even older than they are.

Turning away from them I look in the mirror wall and think, “I am not here to win a beauty contest, or whatever contest pole dancers have (dancer of the month?). I am here to have fun and get a great workout.”

My arms drop to my sides and the class begins so I have zero time to feel too self conscious.

We learned a routine that included a fan kick (my kick looked more like scissors), several cool turns that reminded me that I may have carpal tunnel in my right wrist, and we were told, when in doubt, booty out.

That might be a good life lesson. How often to I tuck tail and run? Maybe I should instead keep my booty out?

I wasn’t the only one barefoot. However as several girls got brave towards the end of class and grabbed a pair of heels to wear, I decided. What the hell. I was already doing hip thrusts and hair flips. I might as well go.all.the.way.

Those heels were terribly hard to walk in however once you are holding onto the pole it is really not bad.

Plus you feel like you are totally in character. Here I am in 5 inches or more heels, dancing to that opening song from Magic Mike 2 where Channing Tatum is in his workshop.

(If you don’t know it, my lady friends I highly recommend you check it out now. You can thank me later. I don’t mind you coming back and reading the rest of this post later.)

I also didn’t mind the class.

I felt so amazing afterwards. Despite avoiding looking in the mirror as much as I probably should’ve. I instead focused on how the moves felt as I did them.

They felt…sexy.

Which was worth the cost of the class, worth a bit of pride, and worth wearing hooker heels.

I’m not sure I will sign up for the whole series of classes but if I were to have a private class and invite my local lady friends I wonder who would fan kick with me?