As my co-editor and I walked in to take a private lesson at Pole Position Dance & Fitness (914-615-9450; www.polepositiondanceandfitness.com) in downtown White Plains, there were, admittedly, a few nervous giggles exchanged. But inside the spacious, light-filled studio—equipped with six or so built-in, floor-to-ceiling silver poles, the walls painted an upbeat shade of violet—the only intimidating part was our instructor’s fitness-mag physique.
With the thighs of a Soviet-era gymnast and a swimmer’s disciplined shoulders, bronze, bottle-blonde Kat, we could tell, was, without question, strong (incidentally, she’s also married and religious, having “got into pole from the fitness route”). Leading us cheerfully through Pilates-like warm-up stretches, her long, straight hair nearly grazing her tiny booty shorts, she might’ve been the girl next door, next breaking dance steps down so deftly even our sadly uncoordinated selves could follow.
And when she swung her compact body impossibly fluidly around one of those skinny mirrored trunks, it was, frankly, a sight. Our mimicking of the harder-than-they-look moves was considerably less graceful, but, ultimately, shimmying up a 10-foot pole (to a pulsing Pitbull club anthem) felt something like conquering Everest—
albeit in slightly less clothing. (Cropped leggings or snug shorts are required; heels are optional, but welcome.)
After an hour, we left, having mastered a short routine, and wanting to bring back every one of our girlfriends. While Kat stressed a big part of the workout is growing comfortable with integrated movement, she promised subsequent sessions would get our delts and triceps burning—and not because of any fire, however equipped like a firehouse the place might be.