Learning to fly

This post should be read with the song “Learning to Fly”. Not the Tom Petty version or the Foo Fighters version (geez, there’s a lot of songs with the title “Learning to Fly,” aren’t there?); the Pink Floyd version. And, actually, ideally the Leæther Strip cover version.

My partner and my daughter have been taking classes at aerial arts studios since before COVID. I, on the other hand, haven’t done anything physically demanding (besides occasional hiking) since before high school. As a kid, I did a lot of sports. I played basketball and baseball (and flag football for a while until one of my friends/teammates tackled me after practice and broke my arm and cut my season — and my flag football career — short). It wasn’t because I didn’t like doing athletic things. It was just that, going into high school, it wasn’t “cool” to be a jock. Also, I was never particularly very good at the sports I did play, most often warming the bench and not playing the positions I was most excited about.

I’ve gone to dozens of performances and recitals now, many of them featuring performances from my daughter and partner. Each time, I’ve been a little jealous and envious. Each time, I’ve told myself there’s no way I can do that.

The studio they’ve been going to for the last couple years is a pretty rad place. It’s woman-owned, queer-inclusive, leans into the circus aspects of aerial (as opposed to the dance aspects that some of the other studios they’ve gone to seem to focus on). It has a strong community of amazing people that I’ve gotten to meet from the sidelines at events. A motto they have on the windows to the studio is Circus for every body. And that’s largely true; one of the students there has the Instagram handle fitness_journey_of_not2old. Karl is possibly the oldest student at the studio and his Instagram is full of reels of himself on various apparatuses including his favorite, chains. He’s become a “viral sensation” and publishes posts of himself doing silly things or wearing costumes.

Increasingly, as I’ve been going to these performances, knowing the language around aerial, knowing some of what’s involved, and seeing Karl do his thing, the voice in my head that says I can’t do that has been replaced by well, I could maybe do that. It wasn’t a light switch. It was a gradual shift that included encouragement from e and talking about her experience and seeing performances from students at a variety of skill levels. And also seeing some cool things and wanting to be able to do that myself.

Learning aerial is learning to be bad at things. But it’s the same thing as anything else new. I don’t consider myself “good at yoga” (in that I’m not flexible enough for a lot of the poses), but yoga is a thing that, ideally, meets you where you are. I needed to convince myself that that applies to other things, too. I was nervous for a long time that I would be really bad at everything at the studio because of my lack of flexibility, I wouldn’t look good because of my “dad bod”, I wouldn’t be able to pull off any of the moves because I don’t have the physical strength or mobility. I let these excuses get into my head and prevent me from even trying. That’s their thing, not mine. I can’t do that.

It’s also a radically different headspace and activity than the one I usually inhabit. My days are spent in my head, doing intellectual work, writing code and documentation and working in front of screens. Even my biggest pastime — playing and running tabletop roleplaying games — is a creative endeavor of imagination and planning and game mechanics. Grounding myself inside my body and doing physical things felt extremely foreign. And I’m not getting younger. It’s easy to believe the myth that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

But over time I realized that I really wanted to do pole. It looked challenging and sexy and powerful. And I had a hunch that because masculine bodies typically hold more of their strength in their upper bodies, I could “cheat” somewhat by relying on my arm and shoulder strength. Because a lot of moves on pole require skin contact on the actual pole to hold you in place, aerial pole sort of requires that you wear less clothing. It’s a functional requirement. Leggings or long shorts would prevent you from being able to “sit” or hang on the pole.

At the top of my first class, Lulu, my instructor, casually said “let’s do 30 jumping jacks” like that’s just a normal thing and not something I haven’t done in more than 20 years. If the warm-ups don’t kill you, it’s time for conditioning. Pole requires a lot of what’s called “skin conditioning” — that means getting your skin to be comfortable (ha!) with squeezing your upper inner thighs around a bar of cold, hard metal and holding your body weight. We also work on invert conditioning; training your body to learn to flip yourself upside down on the pole. It requires a lot of core strength and a lot of mental gymnastics to convince yourself to trust your body (and your grip).

Let’s take a minute to talk about the difference between aerial pole and pole dance. The studio has classes in both. The 18+ “blacklight” classes generally have less emphasis on climbs, hangs and poses and more emphasis on body rolls, leg flares and looking sexy in 7″ heels. I fully intend to get myself to blacklight classes, too, once I feel more comfortable on the pole. But again, this is an artificial requirement that lives in my head; the class itself accepts beginners and I’ve been invited to join more than once.

“But I won’t look good”

I needed a fair bit of convincing that I wouldn’t be any more out of place than anyone else. “Everyone starts somewhere,” e assured me, and I would probably even be slightly ahead of the game. I didn’t trust it. I wasn’t strong enough, I didn’t know how to do anything, I wasn’t coordinated enough. E bought me a box set of pole dance instructional DVDs and started showing me a few things on the pole we have in the basement. She got me shorts that I could wear to class. When I drove to my very first class, I felt like I at least had some idea of what I was doing and wouldn’t make a complete ass out of myself, but I was still nervous as shit.

I wasn’t afraid of failing so much as I was afraid I would have to force myself to do it every time. Like every other form of exercise where I need to find ways of bribing myself to do it. Also, I was afraid of failing. What I didn’t expect, exhausted and sore after that first class, was how much I would want to go back.

I started going just once a week. Then I started going to a beginner aerials class that covers fundamentals for hammock, silks and lyra. And then I started getting better at things on pole. And as I got more comfortable on the pole, I got more comfortable on the other apparatuses. They’re all related, but use different muscle groups. Training on one apparatus helps you on the other apparatuses.

I’ve been sore in places I didn’t know had muscles. I’ve strained the cartilage in my rib. I’ve healed. I’ve flipped myself upside down. I’ve balanced my body on a 1″ piece of metal. I’ve kept going back. I’m taking 2-3 classes a week now. I still suck, but I’m getting better. Some moves are still scary and hard. Okay, a lot of moves are still scary and hard. But I’m almost “passed off” for all the foundational skills that the beginner pole class teaches and I’m probably close on other apparatuses, too.

The hardest part has been being okay with it being hard and scary and being bad at things. That’s actually a lie. The hardest part has been being vulnerable. I haven’t been super secure in my body image in a long time, but here I am wearing shorts that are shorter than I’ve probably ever worn and wondering if shaving my legs will give me better grip.

The best part is proving my brain wrong. I can do this. It’s been good for my mental health, too. Intellectually, I know that physical activity and being inside your body gives your brain a chance to reset, but it’s always far too easy to discount or disbelieve this in the moment. I’ve never left a class unhappy or stressed or thinking about work. Progress feels slow. I need to give my body time to recover. But I’m hooked now. My Fitbit is incredibly happy about the upsurge in activity (although it occasionally tells me I’m overtraining). I’ve even started documenting some of my progress on a dedicated Instagram account: @polesequence. And it’s true: circus is for every body.

If you’re curious about trying aerial, AMA! I guarantee there’s a handful of studios around you if you look for them, and I encourage you to try it. Or, really, find your fun, whatever that might be. But I’m learning that it’s important to do things in your body, especially if you mostly do things in your head.