Friday, March 7, 2008
Faux Pole
About a year and a half ago, I took my first dance class with Annamarie at my local 24 Hour Fitness. The name of the class is what drew me in: 24 Tease. It is described on the 24 Hour Fitness website as, “an electrifying 30-minute striptease aerobics workout… [that] provides a safe environment for members to get in touch with their inner stripper, while taking off pounds, extra clothing and even some inhibitions to reveal a healthier body and stronger self-esteem.”
The “safe environment” at my gym is a sweaty fishbowl of a room that provides a clear line of sight for anyone hanging about on an elliptical or climbing the never-ending stairs to skinniness and personal acceptance. The large windows also provide quite a draw for those who lift weights briefly in between their rest periods rather than the reverse.
If I am lucky, I start my Monday nights at 5:30 with Annamarie’s 24 Set class. She tosses us back and forth from weights to aerobics for a good hour. We heave our sweaty bodies over aerobic steps of various heights, and do bicep curls and lunges in rhythm with a poppy remix of Rose Royce’s “Car Wash.” The 1982 version of “Maneater” has also been known to drift through the damp, gym-scented air. This is followed by a half an hour of salsa. We shake and shimmy and listen to Shakira cooing to us that hips tell the truth.
The real show starts at 7:00. Most of the women from the first hour of circuit training are gone now and, while salsa is popular, the room doesn’t really get crowded until Annamarie dons her pink feather boa and begins 24 Tease. She reminds us that she is not ashamed of her body, that she loves to touch it, and “put on her lotion” (by this she means rubbing her hands over her, now sweaty, spandex getup). She declares us all Divas, and the hooting begins. I admit that I am an instigator of the hooting.
I can’t help but grin as I stare into the mirror and see reflected there women of all shapes, sizes and varieties. I am a judgmental bitch, but it warms my cold, cold heart to see all of these women convening to explore their sexuality. Yes, the room is lacking ambiance. Yes, some of us are wearing sweaty t-shirts and runny mascara. But something magical is afoot. Women who had been stone silent during the earlier classes begin to giggle. Women whom I had pegged as grandmas, begin to wiggle their hips outrageously. Catcalls are uttered; smiles are flashed. Women from all walks of life are drawn here. For some reason, they feel compelled to experience this class. It is a good workout; I have been known to burn over three hundred calories in the scant half hour class. But I don’t think that is why they come. I don’t think that is why I come.
These women are here to take ownership of themselves. They are here to declare their femininity, their beauty, their power. They are here to fantasize that the weighted bar that they are sashaying about and sliding down is a stripper pole. They are here to “hit the floor” if Flo Rida tells them to.
I am here because I can’t resist the temporary community made up of women who lead such disparate lives. I am here because I relish being a part of something that doesn’t require words. I am here because I love to shake my booty. That’s what we are really – a consortium of booty shakers. In this dank, crowded room in Hayward, California, lawyers, and secretaries, teachers, and housewives, grandmas and students come together as women. Yes, I realize it is just an aerobics class that has incorporated a few extra hip circles, but I love it just the same. While jaunting about my faux pole, I can’t help but imagine that we are all witches gyrating under a canopy of moonlit trees rather than fitness junkies under bad fluorescent lighting. I like to fantasize that we are like the witches, ushering in a new era where women are comfortable with their bodies and take pride in their glorious sexuality. Maybe my imagination is overly active, but I am still going to class, and I'm gonna rub my lotion everywhere!Labels: dance
tidbit posted by Mosa @ 4:50 PM
