Ever since moving to Denver, I haven’t been able to pole as much as I would like to. Back to back trips lined up for the next few months and taking the time to still find my groove in this new city has left me with little time to hit the pole studios. I was doing pole at least 4-5 times a week back in New York – right now I’ve only gone maybe 4 times in the last 4 weeks, and it’s been hard, like real hard.
Now I know I’m not the only one who feels this way when I can’t get my hands to a nice metal pole (45 mm preferably) and get my body to fly upside down. I’m in serious pole withdrawal and have been experiencing the following symptoms:
- Can’t Stop Thinking About Pole This includes spending hours a week scrolling through Instagram and mentally visualizing myself to be doing all the cool pole moves I see, zoning out when I’m driving and thinking about all the moves I’ve been working on.
- Unnecessary Window Shopping I don’t really wear heels when I dance, but I cannot stop window shopping online for heels. Same goes with cute polewear, but I guess it’s not as bad because I can always wear my own stuff.
- Sudden Obsession with Looking for Vertical Poles This includes playgrounds, street signs, fences, train poles and anything else that closely resembles something I can pole on.
- Feeling a Physical Anguish That You Can’t Pole A strange physical frustrated feeling of just wanted to move and dance and wanting to pole that you end up doing handstands all over the house and working on your flexibility while trying to cook dinner.
How to cure such a problem? Well the only way is to hit the pole, so I just have to be patient …or find as many street poles along the way.
Halloween is just a few short days away, and things aren’t exactly what they seem. Particularly when it comes to my cat. I’ve noticed him staring at my pole. Lounging with my Pleasers. Eyeing my drawer of pole clothes. I shake my head and tell myself it’s not possible. That everything pole related I’ve noticed lately is purely coincidence. That he’s just a cat, and cats don’t pole dance.
Or do they?
But when the photos came, I couldn’t find a single one that I liked. My costume was too big, and I showed. My stomach looked flabby. My hair was a mess. I didn’t hold some tricks nearly as long enough as I had thought, and those I had held weren’t really aimed at the audience. So, I had a good cry, shut my laptop, and decided to look back at them another day.