Allison Roberts

by Allison Roberts

Whenever I watched belly dancing, I’d feel a bit intoxicated by what I saw. When I heard it could be a good workout, too, I knew I had to try it.

I headed to the Goddess Hour in Brighton for a beginner class. Instructor Bethany Swank, who started teaching seven years ago when the Goddess Hour first opened, fit the part perfectly with her long flowing hair and that belly dancer’s body: voluptuous and graceful.

Many people would be happy to know the ideal type for this pursuit.

“In other countries, where belly dancing is revered, the women are bigger, fleshier and encouraged to let it all sort of jiggle,” Swank told us. “Their softer, fuller size reflects wealth, prosperity and fertility, so it is considered a good thing to have some meat to move around.”

But I stole a glance at myself in the mirror and laughed out loud. If what she said is accurate, I’d be considered dirt poor and infertile. (You know that song “Brick House”? Well I’m a “Straw Hut.”)

There were about 10 women in the class—of varying ages. Some of them wore a scarf with tiny bells sewn on, tied around their waists, which made noise while they danced. (I wanted one of my own). We started class with stretches, then moved into basic arm and hand movements—keeping our fingers in “belly dance” form: middle finger slightly touching thumb. From there, we worked the hips and belly in clockwise circles. We moved our chests side to side and then up to the 12 o’clock position, over to 3 o’clock then down to 6. We also got our hips wiggling and jiggling in ways they just don’t go under any other circumstances.

One move—undulation—was especially tricky because we had to stick our chests out at 12 o’clock while also jutting our pelvis forward and squeezing our buttocks. In slow motion the move is awkward, but when sped up it becomes a kind of body roll or wave. Done correctly, the move is graceful, sexy and smooth. I had a hard time getting all of the body parts to do what they were supposed to do, when they were supposed to do it. For a while, I’m pretty sure I looked like I was trying to dislodge a hairball.

Next we did “snake hands”—a slow-moving shimmy with our shoulders first, then stomach, while our arms moved slowly up the sides of our bodies. Then we picked up the shimmying pace until I felt a little motion sickness. The combination of moving one body part quickly while keeping the rest moving slowly was hard to maintain (think of rubbing your belly while patting your head). But again, when done correctly, the move is cool looking.

I could feel my abs working pretty steadily throughout the class, and also with the amount of arm movements we were doing—the shoulder shimmy for example—my shoulder and arm muscles received a pretty intense workout.

The benefits of belly dancing are both physical and emotional, says co-owner Michelle Charles. “Belly dancing increases muscles in the core, and it’s actually really great for preparing women for childbirth because it works the pelvis and stomach muscles. Belly dancing has great aerobic benefits if you stick with it—and because you’re having fun, it doesn’t really feel like exercise.”

But the emotional benefits seemed most intriguing. “Women often end up making the closest friendships they’ve ever had in our classes,“ Charles told me. “One of our students is 72 years old, and she has become very close to some of the other women in her classes who are in their 30s. These women might not have had the opportunity to get to know one another under another condition, but because of belly dance class, they have made a tight bond that has lasted more than six years.”

The Goddess Hour itself is the product of two women bonding: Charles approached Connie Thornton with a business proposal. “Connie was a scientist for like 30 years,” Charles explained, “and then got laid off. I was a marketing director and could not keep up with the intense hours—I had a toddler. At the same time, Connie and I were both teaching Belly Dancing independently at other studios. I approached her with a business plan and three months later, we opened the Goddess Hour.”

They have more than 200 students come through the studio a week—all there for different reasons; some for the exercise and some for the friendships that develop.

“I have had students come through who are recovering from cancer who, while still wearing their head scarves to hide their bald heads, wind up feeling sexy again,” Charles said. Divorced women have told her that the classes freed them and allowed them to find their sensuality again.

The class wasn’t doing anything for my sensuality—maybe because I hadn’t mastered the moves. But I was certainly having fun. Before closing out with stretches, we spent some time focusing on choreographed dance steps that would eventually become a full dance routine. We worked to a song recorded by a female Middle Eastern singer with a lovely hypnotic voice. The song, we learned, told the story of a belly dancer who, while dancing in a crowd, notices an ex-lover in the audience. He had hurt her, so she is angry with him, but she’s also very proud because she’s got it going on in the belly-dancing department. While dancing, she proceeds to move in ways that makes him ooze with jealousy.

The vocals and beats in the song were intense (even if I couldn’t understand a word she was singing). If I had known what I was doing—could swing my skinny hip out and have it mean something—I think it would have been a powerful little number. It never hurts, though, to have a goal. Learn a belly dance that can ruin a bad ex-lover’s day? That wouldn’t be half bad.

Over the course of the last three issues of this magazine, I’ve reported on my quest to find fun fitness in the form of three pursuits—belly-dancing, pole dancing and hula hooping.

Before I wouldn’t have thought of them for exercise, yet all three turned out to be good workouts. I broke a sweat in each one, was at least somewhat sore the following day and—most important—I challenged myself not to rely on the same old familiar workouts.

Having said that, this also means the classes challenged my perception of my abilities. And that’s an occupational hazard of trying new routines—one that shouldn’t actually discourage anyone. In some cases I was better than I thought I’d be; in others, not as much. And frankly, that’s just fine. I am not going to be a professional hooper, but at least now I know that if invited to an 8-year-old’s birthday party, I can hoop with the best of them.  I may not be able to hang upside down on a pole, but I managed to do the “Fireman spin” with some dignity—and I only wound up with four bruises. While belly dancing, I may not have looked immediately graceful, but I successfully shimmied and did not elbow any of my fellow dancers in the rib. Sometimes it’s the simple successes we have to focus on.

Allison Roberts, founder of EstroFest comedy troupe, is a local visual artist and writer.