The Art of Keeping a Straight Face

If you live in a Northern Climate, this is about the time of year when you begin to lose your mind. When you can’t believe the cold it isn’t over yet and that it’s likely to keep going for at least another month. When your boots, scarf and mittens become your least favourite objects, and the weight of your winter coat makes you think Atlas had it easy. If you go shopping, pretty spring clothes surround you, tempting you with their carefree nature. Sure, you can buy that light pink silk t-shirt now, but it will just sit in your closet, mocking you as you once again don the turtlenecks and wool sweaters you’ve grown so tired of wearing. There isn’t a cure for the winter blues. You’ve got options for coping, but coping is the best you can hope for.

Some people play winter sports. They ski, snowboard or go snowshoeing. They own snowmobiles and speed drunkenly across frozen lakes and think bizarre thoughts like “why is winter only 4 months long” (that’s bizarre because those of us who don’t love the season think it lasts for six). Many will save their pennies to take off to warmer climes during the cold months. They gather in Florida, Mexico, Cuba and the Dominican Republic desperately soaking up a week, or maybe two, of sunshine, which they hope will tide them over until the days lengthen again. For others, the solution lies in the idea that if only you could keep yourself occupied, you might not notice the weather as much - your busy schedule would somehow sweep you out of winter and into spring.

This winter has felt very long. It’s been hard to drag myself to the gym and do the things that keep me busy and away from the comfort of starchy foods and television. On Tuesday, I got a call from a friend suggesting a diversion from our winter blues “let’s take The Art of Stripping” said Juggsy Laroue. Stripping, of course, is the new fitness rage. Terri Hatcher’s been on every talk show strutting her stuff and Carmen Electra just launched a stripping fitness video so it’s officially the Pilates of 2005. Taking the class seemed a good idea since the cost wasn’t exorbitant and, if nothing else, we were guaranteed a laugh. Last night was our first class and I have to say, as far as fitness experiences go, stripping ranks pretty low on the pole. It turns out that slinking around on a floor and touching yourself constantly isn’t a cardio workout. However, I’m not sure that’s the point. Any class that starts with the instructor’s guarantee that “after this class, you’ll be a real sex kitten” isn’t necessarily implying tighter abs.

The class was an interesting blend of women of all ages and shapes. Most were clad in standard workout attire with some in baggy tracksuits and others in the latest LuLulemon gear. A few of the attendees took the stripping part really seriously and one woman wore a bra and hot pants to the class (I’m convinced she’s a real stripper just getting her certification up to date). With the exception of a very few, most of us were struggling to keep a straight face. It turns out that the hardest thing about stripping is avoiding falling into hysterics at the sight of yourself in the mirror. This is the only fitness class I’ve ever taken where the instructor says things like “now stick your chest and your ass out”, “don’t be afraid to touch yourself”, and “this is my boyfriend’s favourite.”

I, like many of the other attendees, spent the first fifteen minutes trying to control my laughter. Another attendee had apparently gotten serious about the class and turned to me in annoyance and shushed me. This, of course, sent Juggsy into peels of laughter, which didn’t help me to control myself. By the time we got to the part where we watched each other doing “wall slides” it was clear the best ab workout was going to result from the constant hysterics we were in, rather than the class itself. Wall slides consist of putting your “ass”, shoulders and head up against the wall with your feet slightly forward and your legs spread shoulder length apart while standing on the tips of your toes (aka the stiletto posture!). You then slither up and down the wall while touching yourself. For some reason, when the instructor did it, it looked dead sexy but whenever Juggsy or I took a turn, it was impossible for the slider, or the watcher, to maintain any type of control. Something was definitely getting lost in translation.
I don’t know if it will beat the winter blues but I do know that this class will be fodder for party jokes for the remainder of my life. I realized last night that where I thought I was completely at ease with the thought of myself as a sexual being, I’ve got some road to travel before I unleash my true sex kitten. At this point, I’m leaning more towards a sex-laughing hyena but I’m working on it.