THERE are a million workouts in the naked city – but few call for a full- length mirror, stilettos and stairs.
Enter “The Art of Exotic Dancing for the Everyday Woman,” by Leah Stauffer.
Billed as a way to “exercise your sex appeal,” the workout – which grew out of classes Stauffer offered at The Learning Studio, a business she ran in Pennsylvania – is now a video, a DVD and a book (each $19.98), and there is a New York City workshop on the way. The “everyday woman” in the title is the tipoff. This is aimed at the 30-something crowd – wives, mothers and working stiffs like me who hope to tone their abs and thighs while connecting with their inner Bada Bing girl.
Which is why I found myself in high heels, leggings and a zebra-patterned top one night, attempting The Walk.
Shoulders relaxed, stomach in, chest out, I pointed my toes and began sliding toward the mirror as directed, keeping one foot forward, dragging the other behind it.
Point, drag, point, drag – I glanced in the mirror in time to see a hooker coming toward me.
A lame hooker.
Definitely not the look I was going for.
Dismayed, I decided to try a few hip rolls. “The Art of Exotic Dancing” says there are four kinds of rolls: stationary, revolving, kneeling and sushi . . . sorry. Squatting.
Standing up, hands on hips, knees bent, I gamely traced a circle with my hips, feeling like a girl who’d lost her hula hoop.
Next I tried revolving: Now I felt like the restaurant atop the Marriott Marquis.
I squatted (painful!) and finally kneeled, sticking a pillow under my kneecaps. Better!
I closed my eyes and rolled until I could roll no more. Whatever they tip lap dancers couldn’t possibly be enough.
Time for a little pole action.
As “The Art of Exotic Dancing” notes, few homes have the real thing, but a doorjamb will do in a pinch.
I went to the nearest doorway and leaned against it. Then – arms waving in what seemed a come-hither way – I shimmied a little and slowly, sensuously, slid to the floor.
It felt so good I stood up and did it again. Fantastic! It felt even better when I noticed those greasy fingerprints my son had left behind had all disappeared. Now, that’s a workout.
Emboldened, I moved to the stairs.
Per directions, I crawled up slowly, a hand and a knee on each of four consecutive steps.
Then I called for my husband to come and watch.
The stairs were steep and hard, and I was grateful for the new wool runner. Oh no! Was that lint on the runner – cobwebs? I made a mental note to vacuum.
Then, remembering what I was there for, I looked over my shoulder, and sought and held my husband’s eyes.
“Honey, am I doing this right?”
“Yeah,” he gulped. “You’re doing it great!”
Mesmerized, he followed me upstairs, into the bedroom.
“Sorry, hon,” I murmured. “I’m wiped.”
And then I kicked off my heels and slept – the sleep of the exotic and the dead.
An “Art of Exotic Dancing for the Everyday Woman” workshop meets Sept. 10 from 6:30 p.m. to 9:30 p.m. at Shetler Studios, 939 Eighth Ave. (between 55th and 56th streets.) For more information, call 1-(866)-HIP-ROLL.
