Summertime and I'm Feeling Fat.

Trying Brass Monkey!

It's summertime in Central California...and it's hot. The swamp coolers in my house make for a perfectly sticky pole but my lungs don't seem to be able to suck in enough oxygen in this damp, heavy air. I am in the middle of packing up my home to move and dismantling my beloved pole room...and I feel fat. And listless. And unmotivated to do anything exercise related. My shoulders carry something heavy, unidentifiable, probably the stress of moving, so they don't want to carry my body weight upside down as well.

But I feel better after reading the BadKitty blog post "How Curves Help with Pole". It resonated with me. Some say I'm slender, but I know all the extra weight I carry from years of stress and a bad diet. I feel the boniness of my knees when I'm trying to do floorwork then look down and see the softness of my belly spilling over my shorts. I see fat in places I never had it before. I get upset with myself because I don't always consistently eat clean; I'd rather have enchiladas and Cheetos sometimes because they comfort me and I'm an emotional eater that hasn't quite faced her problem.

But when I look in the mirror and look myself in the eye, I see a strong woman. A fierce female that can deal with a little extra on her frame and still feel confident. My massage therapist was working on my back and said, "Girl, you have killer shoulders! You're so built!" We pole dancers forget what sets us apart from the average female that goes to the gym or walks for her exercise. We have muscles. Muscles in places we wouldn't have had muscle if we hadn't taken up pole.

Once in pole class a tall, beautiful, big-framed woman told me "I'm about as graceful as a bull with all this weight" or something like that. To which I told her, "The heavier I am, the stronger I get hauling it up on the pole!"

And for that I can feel strong, sexy and who the hell cares if my belly hangs over a little. The extra fat on my thighs and middle help me grip that pole good! I am at my strongest I have ever been in my life right now.

And I'm proud.

P.S. Thank you to every poler who carries extra weight on her frame and still pushes herself, conquers new tricks, and shares her pole achievements on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or on a blog...you inspire me and so many others!

Pole Dance Therapy.

It has been AWHILE since I have sat here and wrote out a post...and believe me, I have lots to talk about. My life has changed in a big way since I last posted.

My Pole Room. 

I separated from my husband a few months after my last post. Things happen in a marriage or a relationship that just seem to take time to repair. At least you need a lot of time - or maybe just a little time apart - to figure it out, to get away from the tension, the negativity that surrounds you both like a fog that doesn't let you see things clearly.

Then he dies. I mean, suddenly. Taken out in an instant one night by a drunk woman.

All hope of repairing anything, seeing him again, maybe making love one more time, feeling his arms, telling one another we are forgiven - GONE.

I felt like a huge stone was wedged in my ribs. I couldn't hardly move my muscles right for weeks. My digestive system was screwed up. I only occasionally wanted a piece of cake or greasy pizza...or another shot of Tequila.

After about two months of this, I decided I needed an outlet. I wanted to get back on my pole. It was almost CALLING me to climb on it.

I created myself a pole space in the extra bedroom of my house. It came out beautifully. Smooth laminate floors, a booming stereo, red lights, pink curtains, huge mirrors...hot.

And I danced. I would turn on some wild, hard, throbbing music and dance like a crazy mad woman to the rhythm, the beat and in an instant it would overtake me, the emotion, the pain, the grief, the sadness, the loss like a huge hurricane that hit with no weather warning, like a storm that suddenly changed course and crashed, no SLAMMED right into me and sent me into a sobbing heap in the middle of the floor. The music drowned out the guttural cries from my soul.

But I continued. I didn't stop. I danced my in my grief, swam in its messy, dark waters and wallowed, thrashed, and got stronger. Waaaay stronger. The more I climbed, inverted, put a foot here, tried holding it there, hey- this arm is able to hold me up better now...oh, wow, now I can balance better...

The things that can happen when you don't stop.