Defying the Gravity of Age

So many reflective thoughts converge with aging ––your life, its purpose, and the usual identity borderlands. I am an African American woman, sixty soon to be sixty-one. Married for thirty years and the mother of five children––four sons and one daughter––ages 17-30. I can also proudly affirm that I am a senior or older adult pole dancer. A sexagenarian pole dancer. I started at 54. 

Finding My Way to the Pole

My interest in pole dancing began at fifty-three. At the time, I was navigating the familiar physical, mental, and emotional challenges associated with that stage of life, compounded by menopause. My relationship to menopause was deeply conflicted: I both welcomed it and feared it.

Menstruation, from adolescence through my pre-pregnancy years, had been a nightmare. I suffered from severe cramps, constipation, excessive bleeding, and debilitating migraines. It felt like a curse rather than a natural bodily process. Reproductive issues ran in my family; I had watched my mother, her sister, and later my cousin struggle in similar ways. Their suffering shaped my own expectations.

Pregnancy offered some relief, but it was temporary. After the birth of my last child at forty-three, I began to look toward “the pause” with cautious anticipation, hoping it would finally bring peace. At the same time, I was afraid. Friends had shared traumatic, life-threatening experiences with menopause, and their stories lingered with me, feeding my anxiety about what lay ahead.

Persistent and painful urinary tract infections, an overactive bladder, vaginal dryness, and vertigo became my constant companions. Various hormonal treatments were prescribed, with a hysterectomy presented as the ultimate solution. This was the path my mother and aunt had taken after years of excessive, painful bleeding, and my mother’s difficulty conceiving further influenced her decision.

In my case, however, a hysterectomy felt far too radical given my symptoms. My gynecologist framed it not only as a way to alleviate menopausal issues, but also as a preventive measure against breast cancer, given my family history and my mother’s experience as a survivor. I am a strong believer in integrative medicine, so I did my own research. I found no compelling evidence to support a clear preventive correlation—at least not one that applied to me. I chose to opt out. My body, my choice.

At the same time, additional health challenges were reaching their peak: rheumatoid arthritis, a herniated disc, and ongoing digestive disorders. The cumulative pain of these conditions—combined with the emotional toll they took—pushed me into a downward spiral.

I began searching online for innovative fitness options, often recommended for navigating health challenges, and that’s when I discovered pole dance and its many benefits. What struck me most was that it welcomed people of all ages and genders.

One figure stood out: Greta Ponterelli, a sixty-nine-year-old pole dancer from California whose osteoporosis led her to the practice. She began pole dancing at fifty-nine and has since become one of the world’s leading senior pole dancers. Greta has competed in both national and international competitions, most recently winning her seventeenth international title at the age of seventy-five.

Seeing her story was transformative. It showed me what was possible, and I knew then that I wanted to become part of this community.

I gave myself my first pole class as a gift for my fifty-fourth birthday, guided by my motto, “54 and wanting more.” The experience stirred a mix of emotions: excitement at being there, disappointment as the class revealed new physical challenges intensified by the sport, and exhilaration rooted in my unwavering determination to keep going.

Meeting Myself in the Mirror

Pole dance is full-body, soul-level mirror work—performed in real time. At times, you look at yourself with admiration and amazement; at others, with desperation and disappointment. You celebrate and support your pole mates, yet your gaze always returns to yourself.

At first, my own reflection was difficult to face. Negative body image, shaped by years of physical challenges, blocked my ability to truly see myself in the mirror. We live surrounded by ideals of the “perfect” body, expectations that make it hard to accept the one we inhabit.

In adolescence, I was underweight. “Olive Oyl” and “Skinny Minnie” were my nicknames. My teenage years and early adulthood brought some relief—my slender frame slowly filled out, and friends even suggested I consider modeling because of my features. Still, insecurity lingered. I longed for what I didn’t have: the curvy, full-bodied figure celebrated in ads and icons like the Pepsi-Cola silhouette.

In my late twenties, I embraced lifestyle changes—veganism and a stronger focus on exercise—that helped ease both my insecurities and the stigma of being underweight. My goal shifted from chasing a socially projected ideal to cultivating a holistic, healthy body.

Over the years, however, maintaining a consistent exercise routine proved difficult. Daily life, family responsibilities, and, at times, a lack of discipline made it hard to stay committed. What I was missing was a true source of motivation. Pole dance became that spark.

Once I centered my fitness routine around improving at pole, discipline followed naturally. Training no longer felt like an obligation; it became a purposeful, grounding practice that kept me engaged and moving forward.

Strength has nothing to do with body size, as my former and current instructors—and my pole mates—have repeatedly shown me. Mastering strength on the pole, lifting and holding your own body weight, is the ultimate test not only of physical power but of inner resolve.

So far, many of my instructors have been thin, not particularly curvy, some even considered underweight. Yet I once watched one of them effortlessly lift a plus-size pole mate onto the pole to complete a move. The student was visibly terrified. Calmly, the instructor said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” And she did.

I felt the instructor’s confidence immediately. In moments like that, you become enamored with what the body can do—not out of arrogance, but out of awe. It’s both an individual and a collective experience: witnessing strength, trusting it, and learning to admire bodies for their capability rather than their shape.

Coming Into My Skin

My sense of modesty shaped what I wore in my early classes. For the first six months, I showed up in mid-thigh yoga shorts and a halter top layered over a sports bra, while most of the others wore short yoga—or “booty”—shorts and a sports bra. Dancing on the pole while fully clothed certainly demonstrates strength, but raw skin contact is essential for building it.

My instructor’s reaction when she finally saw me in yoga shorts was unforgettable. She tried to hide her surprise, but I could almost hear her thinking, “Jill is ready to get down to business.” It made me laugh.

Pole has its own form of modesty. The environment invites you to wear what feels right for you, depending on where you are in your journey. And yet, there are real barriers—shaped by societal norms about “appropriate” clothing and body exposure—many of them rooted in sexualized assumptions. These attitudes often stem from the negative connotations surrounding body exposure and the association with stripping and exotic dance. Those elements are, in fact, integral to the history and culture of pole sport, and I hold deep respect for them.

Aging With an Attitude

Womanhood in later life has been the most fulfilling period of my life—emotionally, physically, and psychologically. I love it in all its dimensions, even with its challenges. Aging is unavoidable, but how we experience it is shaped by how we perceive it. As Mark Twain famously said, “If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

When I was younger, I feared aging. In my teens, I constantly heard that approaching thirty meant being “over the hill,” that there was a narrow window in which everything had to be accomplished before crossing that threshold. Those messages stayed with me for years.

Longevity runs in my family. My great-grandmother lived to be 107. My mother is ninety-five, soon to be ninety-six. I credit their sharp wit and spirited sense of humor as part of the reason they lived so long. Physically, however, their bodies eventually declined—largely because regular exercise was not part of their lives.

American cartoonist Charles M. Schulz once said about aging, “Just remember, once you’re over the hill, you begin to pick up speed.” That perception has come vividly to life for me through pole dance.

At sixty-one, I am stronger than I have ever been, thanks to a pole-centered exercise routine. When I first began taking classes, I noticed that many students recorded themselves during practice. Eventually, I started doing the same—and it made a profound difference. In the moment, I was often critical of myself, but the videos revealed something else entirely: the small, incremental steps of progress and, above all, my strength. It was the same strength my instructors had always told me I possessed, but that I struggled to believe.

Over time, I developed a ritual. At the end of every class, I take a photo of myself—celebrating my physique and, especially, my sense of sexiness, which has grown deeper and more confidently embraced through exotic pole dance.

One of the most unexpected sources of encouragement came from watching men in class perform exotic dance, sometimes even in heels. They refused, as one male pole mate told me, to let society confine them or diminish the feminine energy within their masculinity. Witnessing that freedom expanded my own understanding of strength, expression, and embodiment.

As long as I am alive and able, I will continue to enjoy the holistic benefits of pole dance and to “age with an attitude,” as my pole idol Greta Pontarelli so perfectly puts it.