Love letter to Pole
I’m scared of heights but—
I’m scared of heights. Like, really scared of heights.
I once took one of those sideway lifts at a London Tube station, and as it transported me creakily, diagonally, painfully slowly towards the raised platform, my palms became slick with sweat. And then it stopped just before it reached the top and almost took my heart with it.
A decade ago, a surprise cable car closure stranded me atop Rio’s Sugarloaf Mountain. I literally climbed back down on my butt, both hands clutching a friend for safety, terrified the whole way.
Yet, for a year I’ve been climbing the pole twice a week. And absolutely loving it.
My Pole story
Everyone asks how I got into Pole Dancing, and I always say accidentally.
A few years ago, I made a friend in Ho Chi Minh City who said she wanted to try Pole and would I come with her. We never went but I mentioned the idea to my partner and he agreed it would be a cool sport to try—the seed had been planted.
Then last April, a Pole studio with rave reviews had a massive discount that got shared on social media. I thought: why not and went for my first class.
That first class, the studio owner taught me three beginner moves. All three felt impossible at first, but by the end of the hour, with repetition and a touch of delusion, I could do them all.
And so I kept going back. Because every class I get to do the impossible.
Here’s the great transferable skill of Pole, and why it’s the latest love of my life: each time I practice, I learn that impossible isn’t permanent. That with grit and guidance, the impossible can be tamed, sometimes even mastered.
And being scared of heights just makes each conquest that much sweeter.
Every time I climb the pole, I’m terrified. I do it anyway.
Why I can’t have nice things
I loved every second of Pole. The physicality of it, the camaraderie, the fact it was the one activity I didn’t feel the need to be good at. Unlike everything else—work, writing, cooking, friend-making—where I expect, from myself, only excellence.
But then, after ten months, I still couldn’t do two climbs. After countless attempts, this impossible doesn’t feel any more possible. And as I witnessed one classmate after another master two climbs in a handful of classes, my lack of progress came to feel like a failure.
This soured my relationship with Pole. I became frustrated. I began to wonder if, secretly, my teacher was frustrated too. Why can’t Val do this? She’s been practicing for ten months!
I fixated on this one thing I couldn’t do. Each time someone complimented a video of me executing a different move, I said but I still can’t do two climbs. Every victory paled before this one failure.
Because I’ve been doing Pole for so long, I recategorised it in my mind from “thing I can be bad at” to “thing I must excel at.” And this sucked all the joy out of something I once loved—passionately.
I can’t have nice things; my perfectionism gets in the way.
I write this from Bangkok where I’ve signed up for three private classes during a weeklong visit, determined to climb this pole if it’s the last thing I do.
But even if I don’t, I’ll just have to remind myself that Pole is a sport I’m doing for fun. That I’ve already achieved so much despite my fears. That the only person demanding more, for no good reason at all, is myself.
What do you think?
What is your Pole?
What is that one activity you love passionately, that changed you for the better? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this post with someone who’s been curious about Pole—maybe it’s time they finally try.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val