“Last night, I went to my first pole class in 6 months.”
In previous posts, I had spoken about how frustrated I had become. I honestly started feeling like it was never going to happen again. I was never going to be allowed to return or feel confident about that shoulder again.
I got home from work and changed into my pole clothes – the loosest ones I have, because I did not adjust my eating habits over those 6 months. Suddenly, eating like you’re training 5x a week just doesn’t help you anymore.
I was waiting around to leave, and i started getting jittery. My hands were sweating, yay, and I couldn’t stop pacing. I had planned on leaving at 7, so I could be 15 minutes early to find a park and get settled, but at 6.40 I grabbed my stuff and left because I had started talking myself out of it.
I was going to be terrible. Awful. Everything was going to hurt constantly, and nothing was gonna work out.
I do the warmup, rolling my shoulders, loosening up. We slide down the pole a few times to engage our shoulders. And then we spin.
By spin, of course, I mean fly. Off I take, round the world. Front hooks, back hooks, chairs, showgirls.
And then I climb. All the way to the top: Mum I reached the top!
Heaven. I got it back, I’m here. This is not bad, this is great.
Best of all? Its been a week and another pole class since then, and I feel fine. Almost better than fine. And I’m back, baby.
See you with some pole posts later.