This weekend, I met up with some friends in Chicago. It was an all-out girls weekend: good shopping, good food, and pole dancing.
Yes, I said pole dancing. Apparently, this has been gaining popularity ever since Carmen Electra released a series of strip tease workout DVDs. A friend of mine suggested we try it, and most of us figured it would hurt to try it just once.
After brunch at a nearby cafe, we descended on Flirty Girl, a gym that features lap dancing, pole dancing, and kick boxing. I originally thought that kick-boxing was a misfit until I realized all three have one thing in common: You work hard as hell.
Our instructor was Diana, a well-endowed cutie with caramel skin and long blond weave. She first took us through warm up designed to loosen us up, and they worked. By the time I got finished shaking my rear end and rolling all over the floor, I was too sweaty and too tired to be nervous about grinding all over a pole.
In two hours, Diana taught us a full routine, complete with two spins, a headstand, and a backflip. I wish I could say that I was ready for showtime (and by showtime, I mean showing my husband, not going to the local strip joint), but I felt more like Carrie from the King of Queens.
My spins were ill timed, I did more of a roll than a back flip, and I left the headstand to the professionals. What I did gain were sore arms, a set of bruises along my thighs, a lot of laughs, and a newfound respect for ladies who make their living working the pole. I may not agree with their career choice, but boy, do they work hard. They need a raise and a union representative.