Work-Out Routine for Menopausal Women – Pole Dancing & Lap Dancing! Stripper Pole Dancing Class

Let’s just call it what it is – Stripper Class 101.

Hilarious & painful workout!! I barely made it out alive!!

Crazy Menopausal Stripper Pole Dancer

Before I “swing” into the tale of my short-lived stripper education – I need to give you some background on my introduction into the world of crazy-ass workouts - Aerobics! I became a devout Maniac! (Or as I like to spell it – Maine-iac!)

“When you give up your dream, you die.” Thank You “Flashdance” Quote!

I was in my 20’s during the 80’s. My sister, Bridget, introduced me to the land of physical. She was also everyone's favorite instructor. She chose the Best Music and choreographed the Best Routines!

New York was the place to be for the initiation into this new workout craze. I did Aerobics with Jennifer Beals, Flashdance music and Flashdance fashion in mind. The “uniform” included high-thigh leotard, off the shoulder artfully ripped tee shirt and sockless leggings with scrunchy leg warmers – and really big aerobics sneakers. I Maine-iac’d my Ass Off!! It was high-intensity and lots of yahooing during class. I look back on the Flashdance/Jane Fonda workouts phase and realize it was perfect timing for women to feel empowered and sexy. A sisterhood of sweaty transformation. As I meditate on the advent of working out being cool – I realize that it formed how I looked at exercise - having a fun time and staying healthy. I've maintained a workout regimen ever since (except during a major dark phase which I’ll talk about in a later blog post). As I aged, I moved on to less stressful workouts with fantastic results. Pilates became part of my meditation and introduced me to my “core.” It made me lean and mean!

I’m going to digress for one sec about the movie Flashdance (it’s a must-see to understand this paragraph). Kudos to the fancy restaurant and lobster-eating sex scene! I’m from Maine so I already consider lobster the “food of the Gods” and my favorite crustacean of all time – and thanks to Flashdance, it’s an aphrodisiac too!! Love me some LOBSTAH (correct pronunciation)!! BTW – we Maine-iacs are very lobster-savvy. Maine lobster is the sweetest and most succulent. Don’t even try to argue with me. I’ve tried lobster around the world and we WIN claws down!! When I order some delivered overnight to my home in Maryland, I have a ritual prior to consuming this God-Food. I first let the 6lb. (yes, 6lbs.) lobster’s out to crawl and play (I mean look for their escape route) on the kitchen floor. They love it. Then once my water is heated to boiling – I gently turn them over and rub their bellies with my magical fingers which lulls them to sleep and into a false sense of security before I execute them. I sometimes croon lullabies to calm the savage beast but realize it’s more to calm me down. As you rub, their claws start drooping and eventually they are out like a tasty light and it’s time to cook them. I do this so they don’t scream and clank around the pot. You can’t actually hear the screams - but I do - inside my lobster-loving soul. It kills me to kill them – but it’s the one food item that turns me into a serial killer. Please forgive me lobster gods!!

NOW ON TO STRIPPER WORKOUTS!! I propose that the Olympics add a new category – Exotic Dancer Lap Routine and Stripper Pole Dancing Event! These women deserve Gold Medals!! It would also boost the TV ratings! I am in awe of their pole/chair/floor routines.

During menopause I needed a re-boot in the old bedroom gymnastics game. I had to regain my sexual animal that menopause kidnapped. I thought it would be a great idea to rekindle our sex life (meaning rekindle my desire to have sex) by taking exercise classes at this innovative, hot and all the rage workout club – Stripper Classes - lap dance and pole dance routines for the sexy (older) woman. Rejuvenate your waning sex life ladies!! I was desperate to find and pay ransom for my missing libido! I fell hard for the hype and with my husband’s manic encouragement, bought 6 classes to try out my “stripper” skills. I even bought the recommended and gimmicky cliched clear plastic 6-inch heels they sold in their shop.

Stripper Class Stiletto's

I believe I temporarily lost my f**king mind when I purchased them. BTW - I recently searched high and low for those life-threatening pumps to take a picture of them for this post but seem to recall that I threw them away or more likely threw them into a bon fire in a painful fit of rage or exorcism at the injustice of it all!! (You’ll soon understand what that passionate rant means.) Being sexy is painful!! Ed thinks I sold them in one of our yard sales. If I did - I am clearly insane.

Ed was so excited!!!

Here’s a pix of another pair of ridiculous ankle-breakers to give you an example of what I purchased to reignite our sex life. Actually, I had to buy them because Ed drooled all over them.

Cleaning Stiletto's

I’m not allowed to throw them away in the hopes that I’ll wake up one day and decide to wear them during my cleaning chores. Like that’s a great idea. Paired with a French Maid outfit, of course. FYI – Ed insisted I buy these black stilettos to pair with my skin-tight cat-suit. Much to his disappointment - I never bought that one-piece suction cup. Deathtrap Footwear for the mentally imbalanced. You should have a f**king license for those pumps!

My first class was, “The Art of Lap Dancing!” (or, more importantly, how to please your Man-Child). Have you ever laughed while wearing 6” plastic pumps and attempted walking a “stripper sexy sashay” - in a straight line – while other women encourage you with hoots and yells - without breaking an ankle? I have. How about sustaining a “squat” position for EONS - hovering over an imaginary sweaty man sitting in a chair – gyrating like my hips were having an epileptic seizure – while other women encourage you with hoots and yells? Once again, I have. We all enjoyed the class because we were newbies and it was exciting to pretend we were strippers. Turning on total strangers and hoping we’d get crumpled dollar bills - salaciously shoved into our imagined g-strings - while hanging upside down on a pole. I know this all sounds very misogynistic but playing the “working girl” was somehow a no-no erotic fantasy.

Next class I took was (what I thought) a beginners Stripper Pole Dancing class – complete with wall-to-wall mirrors and mood lighting to admire your skill and sex appeal. I entered this den of pheromones with much anticipation. Young women were warming up by slithering up the pole and flipping upside down to slowly glide down to the floor landing in a puddle of SEXY! Initially I was entranced, impressed and excited. It quickly turned into these thoughts - I’M DOOMED. The nubile wanna-be erotic dancers were flying around the pole with the ease of a Cirque du Soleil acrobat and stopping on a dime in a tantalizing pose. I was more than doomed. I found an empty pole and waited for the instructor with a sweaty (damned) soul. I realized I was twice the age of the other students (I mean toddlers) but the competitive ME (which I did not know existed) grabbed the pole with ill-advised confidence and struck a pose! I followed instruction and began spinning furiously around that pole while forcing myself to keep up with the other kids in the stripper playground. I continued with this work out (I mean farce) no matter what damage I inflicted on my body and self-esteem. This was my swan song of the “assault by stripper pole.” Everything after the first 15 minutes grows a little dark and fuzzy. A slow-motion dreamlike state that convinced me I was in hell. Like the biblical descriptions of “hell” – I was in an endless loop of squealing thighs and bloody silent screams of agony. I couldn’t stop and collapsed at hour’s end into a tragic pose of pain – with a rictus grimace permanently plastered onto my dripping beet-red face. I was sprawled around the evil pole and waited for all the little girls to giggle-bounce out of the room so I could figure out how to get up off the floor. I was the last woman standing (I mean splattered).

Stripper Pole Dancing Class - Advanced

Crawling out of the room – crying and moaning in agonizing pain and humiliation - I went looking for my work out bag. I attempted to change my shoes from the 6-inch weapons of feet destruction to my harmless sneakers. I gave up. Women kept asking me if I needed help – getting up off the floor and to my car. I politely declined in a strained croak. I don’t remember getting to my car. I somehow managed and drove home only to arrive in tears. Ed came bounding out of the house in turgid glee (like a horny puppy) only to see me crying and begging for help getting out of the car!! I half-crawled, half-crab-walked, half-dragged myself up the porch steps with Ed’s help and into the house to collapse on the floor in embarrassed muscle-spasmed tears. Ed’s hopes of putting up a stripper pole in the living room were dashed. I couldn’t move for 2 days. I even needed help going upstairs to change and lick my wounds (which were real – not metaphorical). Spinning around a metal pole for an hour had consequences. The soft underbelly of my arms and legs were all red and scraped and looked like I attempted suicide with a cheese grater. It was summer and I had to wear long sleeves and pants for a couple weeks to avoid explaining my bizarre wounds. My wrists, forearms, inner thighs, ankles, etc. were rubbed raw!! I had to go to work on Monday and still could not walk upright without moaning like a dying cow. I also had 4 more paid classes to enjoy. I called the club to let them know that there should be a “warning notice” on the pole dancing classes. When they checked which class I had attended – they told me I was in the advanced class – not the beginners. WTF!!! I am sorry to say, that I did not attend anymore exotic workouts. I was defeated by a pole.

I am unable to keep information like this to myself for too long – even at work. I think it’s important to share, or more aptly, warn. It’s against my nature to hide my humiliation – but always told for comedic affect. Far more palatable that way. I had the vendors and clients roaring with laughter at my pain and defeat. They were upset I had no pictures or video.

I gave up my dream of stripper stardom - emulating Jennifer Beals in Flashdance. A stripper-cum-dancing phenom. An underdog with heart, passion and talent. She also gave good “lobster.” Oh, well! At least I was an underdog!!

Do I recommend trying a class like this? Yes, I do – but make sure you get a doctor’s note, protective gear and take the right class!

I’m sorry to say, that my brief stripper fantasy days were over much to my husband’s disappointment. But he saw with his own eyes how dangerous that vocation could be to one’s health – mental and physical. Not pretty. So, my Pheromones are now “Fear-o-mones” thanks to that devil pole and menopause. My husband, Ed, said I need a “safe word” for my next workout class - (another Ed-ism).

I’ll be signing my book - Menopause the Horror, Humility, and Humor of It All - at the Barnes and Noble in White Marsh on the Avenue in Maryland on December 2, at 2pm. I’d love to see you there. You’ll get a free Hot Flash Fan with your book purchase!!

Contact me if you have a funny or horrific workout story! I hear Mermaid Workouts are fun!!

I really hope you’ll become a part of my community. I would love to hear your stories, without any editing, please. I can handle anything!

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Colleen McIntosh