My name is Erin and my daughters are pole dancers.
There’s no way to deny it. It’s something I encourage. It seems to make them happy. It’s good exercise. And they’re pretty good at it.
The rigging on our boat has something called a baby stay. It’s a thick metal line that runs inside of a loose-fitting sleeve from nearly the top of our mast to the forward middle of the boat. It helps to stabilize our mast and can serve as a place to run an extra sail if needed. Our daughters, however, have turned it into their own pole for dancing. They’ve improved their core and upper body strength and flexibility. They create dancing shows around the pole. When we arrive in new ports, pass a boat under way, or when a new boat arrives near us at an anchorage, the girls both run out to the pole to greet them by showing off their mad skills.
Marley has wanted to give Clint and me classes in pole dancing for some time now, and we finally started her lessons two days ago. She has deemed us both beginners. I’m not sure if that’s an insult or compliment but she says it with some condescension. We started with trying to learning a simple arm hang and body spin. Quickly we were able to add in a hip swing to propel us around the bar one more time. She was impressed with her students and decided to give us a free swing. I, of course, decided that I would try something fun, so I grasped the pole with a split grip, angled my body, ran to the side and pushed off. I figured it would be much like Neo in The Matrix when he plants his pole and spins around sideways to kick all the Agent Smiths, running in a circle on their faces. Yep, that’s actually what I had in mind. Instead, due only to the fact that the pole angles steeply toward the mast and not at all related to the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing on a pole, something went a little wrong. And I dislocated my elbow. No tear. No break. Just a simple radial head dislocation that I was able to relocate pretty quickly as I sat rocking on the deck while Clint fretted about what might have happened. (Please note that he already had sustained his own injury and now sports a huge bruise on his left hip). So now I’m moving gingerly and can’t carry the groceries from our provisioning. Actually, I can’t even pick up my coffee cup yet, but it’s all good. At least I didn’t have to explain to an ER doctor in the Bahamas how I dislocated my arm while pole dancing on my boat. I think I’ll leave the swinging to the kids from now on!