Vagina-Fueled Arms

I promised that I would use that as the title of my next blog seeing as how I’m not starting a band any time soon.

Motivation and Movement.  These are the two things that could be useful in propelling me to the next level (whatever that may be), or at the very least, forward.  These are the two things in which I am currently sorely lacking.  I am setting aside the fact that my body is giving me every warning that we’re about to get sick – lethargy, a slight shortness of breath, that damned itch super-deep in my chest, the absolute loss of focus  – and I will not use that as an excuse. 
So, motivation, where do you find it? For me, it helps when I have something fairly big to work towards.  For instance, the first time that I did P90X, I was trying to get in shape for my wedding and honeymoon/bikini week.  I rocked that out so hard! I even followed the diet (to a degree), and I looked great! I felt great!

Fast forward almost two years.  Here I am now, with considerably less strength than before (yes, that’s true, believe it or not) and limited to no motivation.  I thought that perhaps a competition would up my motivation, but at the moment, it has not.  I haven’t yet committed to the competition, though, so I still have the possibility of using it as motivation, but it would be an entirely different kind of motivation.  The “holy-crap-time-is-going-so-fast-and-I’m-nowhere-near-ready-OMG-I’m-gonna-crash-and-burn-and-be-an-embarassment” type of motivation is what competition would bring. Healthy? Probably not.

Hey, you do have a vacation coming up at the end of June, says somewhat helpful and rational me. Lazy and eating cake me says, yeah, but we can work out for 2 weeks before vacation and be good. Am I too young to have a mid-life crisis? Do mid-life crises usually involve wanting to eat everything in sight and do as little as possible? No? That’s just lazy? Oh.

Ok, now that we’ve all figured out that I’m just being lazy, could someone please help me find the freaking Reset button? Please? Set me back to my energetic, conquer the world days! I have things that I want to accomplish, but no one but myself to hold me accountable. Yes, I need someone to crack the whip.

You see, I’m not “normal”. My best work comes when I’m under the gun. When I only have one or two things to do, I get bored. I need a full plate at all times to keep myself engaged. Perhaps a slight case of adult ADD? Hey, there goes a fire truck!

Let’s, for a moment, talk about what’s on that big ole plate right now (some of this is a repeat from my last post, sorry): 

Weekly choreography for my Groove Shop class.  This comes considerably easier than I ever could have imagined it to. I am still working on it though. I want it to be fun for everyone but at the same time challenging enough for those who attend to want to come back for more. I need to up my personal floor game to pass on to students. In reality, I need to take some dance classes in order to better get in touch with myself.  Yep, pile that plate nice and high.

Showcase choreography – still to be decided if it’s solo, group, or both (performance whore). The challenge in doing a group number, for me, is having the whole number ready to be taught when it’s in so many different pieces.  And I’m just now realizing that it isn’t necessary. I just have to have everyone done about two weeks before showtime (and have taught it to everyone) so that we can finalize and rehearse together. *light bulb goes on*

I have a hula hoop! Perhaps I will grab a DVD and attempt to learn to use it. I think it would be super fun to teach it, but horse, cart, etc.

BREAK, WEATHER, BREAK!!  I am itching to fly! I am itching to feel the wind rushing past my ears, the moments of weightlessness, the utter freedom that I feel when I’m in the air. As far as it being a task on my plate, I need to work tricks for this year’s show.  As I said, performance whore.

It isn’t a lot.  I know it isn’t.  And I know because if there were more, I’d be better at it.  I swear, I need to schedule my day down to the last minute and follow it.

At least with all of these ‘things to do’, I also have things to look forward to.  Things like our first cruise together this summer, getting a new car (I have fallen in love with the Hyundai Tuscon. You cannot change my mind. I hope it drives well. If so, my pimp hand will be strong in that motherfucker.), and purchasing the much-anticipated Walther 9mm P99C QA handgun. I wanted to get the gun sooner, but due to laws, I can’t buy in Colorado without a Colorado ID and we aren’t making any trips to Florida in the near future, so wait I must.  Do you have any idea how impatient I am?!?!  If you’re a regular reader (all 3 of you), you’re probably thinking about having me committed right about now. 

Because I’m scatterbrained today, I’m going to stop before this goes off on tangents like Angry Birds Space.

Life….as a Gantt chart

Yes, I was totally planning to create and embed a Gantt chart here, but I also thought I had MS Project. Oh well. You’ll just have to imagine it in your head. Start drawing:

  • Once a week (and I’m only looking out to July 2 at the moment), I choreograph about two minutes of a song. This song changes every two weeks, sometimes three if the girls are really feeling it.
  • We have a pole showcase coming up for which there was a song requested. If I can get a commitment from enough girls, there will be that to work on. I have 7 weeks.
  • Remember back when I said a goal for 2012 was to compete? Well, I have to decide if I want to make that happen sooner as opposed to later. I have to decide in 5 days if I want to make that happen sooner as opposed to later. If I wuss out, my calendar isn’t so bad. If I go balls to the wall (because I know no other way), I would have to come up with two pieces (which are oh so likely to be pieces I’ve already performed just prettied up) and make them competition ready. In 8 weeks. EIGHT. WEEKS. There is a possibility that I would be in over my head on that one but the jury is still out.

Now that I write it out, it doesn’t seem so bad. I feel as though I could actually do this. There would be a lot of stretching, training, and (ugh) clean eating on the horizon, but I really think I could do it. I don’t have to win, right? It’s about the experience, right? We’ll see. I still have five days.

****** Don’t you hate when someone says something cryptic that you think could mean a variety of things and you know you should just ignore it because the person that said it will never come clean about the true meaning of the statement but you. Just. CAN’T?!?!?******************* (enter your own hashtag here)

Deep breath.

The weather has been just to the side of gorgeous lately and it’s not a moment too soon. I am certainly getting a circus itch that needs to be scratched. It’s time to once again visualize and then actualize that damned layout and just take it out of lines. I have to find my balls in one of these things that I do and hopefully it’ll transfer to everything else.

Hopefully. Not a word that I’m putting a lot of umph behind. I know that it’s me and me alone who puts hand to pole or fork to mouth. Sometimes, I just find it difficult to find my inspiration. When I watch folks doing the things that I know my body is capable of doing, I think to myself that, yes, I could do that, but I find the actual prepping to do it so difficult. Probably, I don’t want it badly enough, but, unfortunately, I also don’t know how to make myself want it. I need to be surrounded by pole and circus people 24/7. Ha! I need a Club Med vacation!

I’d love to stay and chat a bit, but I just remembered that I have some hula hooping to do. Be good!

My journey to pole

I believe that there are times when someone may look at a woman (or a man) participating in pole dancing, and wonder, “How did he/she get there?” I don’t really think that anyone that knows me wonders that about me as, if you know me, well, you know me, but let’s take a trip down memory lane for those of you who aren’t overly familiar with the outside-of-the-box that is me.

Waaaaay back in the day, I was a tomboy. Hard to imagine, right? My preferred cohorts had, gasp, penises! They didn’t like dolls. They could cook though. Everyone could. We played rough and tumble. All the time. Tag, peg (like dodgeball but against a wall), horse, football, sled riding, dirtbiking, hanging out in a garage fixing engines. That’s how I liked to spend my time. All of these things gave me my base strength. The time in which we sat around not doing much was few and far between. Thank you, small town America. Thank you for that one positive that I am able to take away from a funk-di-fied childhood.

I’ve never wanted to do what everyone else is doing. I would cut off my nose to spite my face. You’re going out to play? I’m staying in to read a book. No one wants to go out? I’m painting the town red with my single paintbrush. Oh yes, I would go out and enjoy the nightlife on my own. I had a network of friends that made me feel safe no matter where I went. Life was good in the 90s. My adventure, however, didn’t begin in earnest until 2000.

For reasons that are an entirely different story, I ended up working for Club Med. As I’m wont to do, much investigation was performed to find out about my new surroundings prior to my arrival. The moment I saw it, there was nothing else that could hold my interest: the flying trapeze. Of course I had seen this contraption before, as I was aware of the circus in general, but I had no idea what it had in store for me.

At my very first free moment, I went over to that monstrosity of steel and net, hovering, towering, looming over our heads. I sat patiently awaiting my turn thinking to myself that this would be a piece of cake. After all, I had done some pretty stupid stuff prior to this moment without safety lines and nets, so how bad could this be? As I climbed up the ladder, the tension continued to build. I reached the platform and was told to step across. And as I did that, I failed one of the first tests – don’t look down.

24 feet looks a lot different when you’re looking down at it as opposed to looking up at it. I lost my cool for a moment, but realized that I was already up here, people were watching, and some of those people, I would be working with for the next 6 months (and some way beyond that) so let’s not start off making a wussy impression. Once my feet left the platform (board/perch in circus speak), I was hooked. I became the circus guinea pig. Hey, we wanna try something, let’s ask Sunshine.  Hey, we want Sunshine to try this, she’ll do it, no problem.

All of that strength from being a tomboy was wonderfully honed during my circus time. Lifting kids, counterbalancing adults, throwing my own body all over the place and managing to keep it all in one piece. Just another day in the life. I was strong. Ridiculously so. I put on a tank top and had to take it off because I looked like a dude across the back and shoulders strong. Grace, however, that bitch eluded me from day 1.

One cannot stay at Club Med forever. The toll that is taken on the body (the liver in particular) is tough. I rejoined the “normal” world, but I craved something new, something different, something outside of the norm. And into my life, spun pole dancing. Whilst living in Miami, I came across a studio close to home. My first class was super fun, but at the same time painfully awkward. Strength moves – nailed them. However, I was severely lacking in flow. And hips. And ass. You recall, I was in Miami. The home of big hips, big asses, and the ability to move both of them. Contrary to what you see on the outside, those things just weren’t happening for me. I focused on what I could do and left the rest alone.

For a while. Until I had a teacher who was also a trained ballet dancer. She inspired me to move. It was she who set me on the path to finding the dancer inside myself. She brought choreography to class and after kicking our asses in a warmup, taught us five or six eight-counts to put together. Always beautiful, always sensual, always strong.(Thank you, Marissa!!)

Once I had tapped into this part of myself that had been buried underneath jeans, sweatshirts, and dirty garage rags, I wanted more. I bought a pole for home. I started to take online lessons to supplement my studio time. I was seriously hooked. And we were moving. Across the country.

Hello, Colorado!

Upon arriving in a new location (or more than likely long before arriving), I’m looking for two things: a place to fly and a place to pole. For once, flying was found more quickly than a studio, but the wait was worth it. From the second I walked in the door at Boulder Spirals, I knew I was home. The studio was nice and bright, the opposite of what I’d come from, and the people were open and welcoming, also the opposite of what I’d come from (not studio-wise, just people-wise). Before long, I was a studio regular. Working on everything and anything that I wanted. Enjoying the challenge of pushing myself physically. Growing as a dancer, and more importantly as a person, most importantly, as a woman.

Starting at Boulder Spirals, I had to “unlearn” some bad habits, but during the process, my poling became more safe AND more solid. I started really hearing music and hitting beats. I created my own choreography – an accomplishment in itself – and performed it. TWICE! Now, I’m at my (almost) pinnacle. I’m taking all of the knowledge I’ve gathered over my thirty-some odd years, and I’m sharing it with others as an instructor.

One goal yet remains to be accomplished. Competition. My original goal was this year. I may still make it if I focus. No matter what, though, compete or not, teach or not, pole or not, I know that I have an extended family that will be there to support me every step of the way.