Am I Too Old To Start Pole &/Or Aerial Training?

...is never the question people are really asking...

You turn off the car.

The engine gets quiet.

For just a moment, so does everything else.

Then your brain starts talking.

"Maybe I should've waited until I lost ten pounds."

"I bet everyone in there is younger than me."

"What if I can't even pull myself off the floor?"

"What if everyone already knows what they're doing?"

"What if I make a fool of myself?"

"What if I'm the oldest person in the room?"

"What if I don't belong here?"

Your hand reaches for the door handle.

Then stops....

You could still leave.

No one would know.

You could tell yourself you'll come back another day.

When work settles down.

When the kids are older.

When you're stronger.

When you're more flexible.

When you've lost the weight.

When you're more confident.

When...

The funny thing is, after more than twelve years of owning Altitude, I know this moment better than you might think, because almost everyone has it.

Even the people who walk in looking completely confident.

The Question I Hear ALLLLL The Time

The phone rings.

"Hi...I have kind of a weird question."

"It probably isn't weird."

"Well...I'm 36..."

A pause.

"Am I too old to start?"

Sometimes they're 32.

Sometimes they're 48.

Sometimes they're 57.

The number changes.

The question doesn't.

I've answered that question hundreds of times over the years.

And somewhere along the way, I realized something.

I don't think people are actually asking me about their age.

I think age is just the safest way to ask a much bigger question.

What I Think People Are Really Asking...

Did I miss my chance?

Has life already decided who I'm going to be?

Or can I still become someone new?

Can my body still surprise me?

Not...

"Can I look twenty-five again?"

But...

"Can I still learn?"

"Can I still get stronger?"

"Can I still do something that once felt impossible?"

Am I allowed to do something that's just for me?

This one especially gets me.

For so many women, every hour of every day belongs to someone else.

Kids.

A spouse.

A career.

Parents.

A never-ending to-do list.

Somewhere along the way, "What sounds fun?" gets replaced with "What's practical?"

Pole and aerial aren't practical. They're joyful. And sometimes joy feels almost...selfish.

What if I fail?

As adults, we're used to being competent.

We know how to do our jobs.

Pay our bills.

Run meetings.

Raise families.

Then suddenly we're standing in a room where we can't even figure out how to spin around a pole without getting dizzy.

Being a beginner is uncomfortable.

Not because we're bad at it.

Because we've forgotten what it feels like.

Is that adventurous version of me...still in there?

Maybe you used to cheer.

Maybe you danced.

Maybe you were a gymnast.

Maybe you climbed every tree in the neighborhood.

Or maybe you've never considered yourself athletic at all.

Either way, life has a funny way of convincing us that the most adventurous parts of ourselves belong in the past.

But what if they don't?

Here's Why I Smile When People Ask Me That Question

Not because it's silly.

Because I understand it.

What most people don't know is...

I'm 54 years old.

I didn't discover pole until I was 38 and had a 10-year-old son.

A year later, I became a mom again.

When my daughter was two years old, I opened Altitude.

If you had told 37-year-old me what the next fifteen years of my life would look like, I would've laughed.

Not because I didn't think I was capable.

Because none of it was even on my radar.

I wasn't trying to reinvent my life.

I just signed up for a class.

One class.

I had no idea that one scary decision would change everything that came after it.

My career.

My friendships.

My confidence.

The community I would build.

The thousands of incredible people I would eventually meet.

None of that happened because I had a perfect plan.

It happened because one day...

I opened the car door.

The Best Part?

I've now watched thousands of people make that same walk.

I've watched nervous beginners become instructors.

I've watched women who whispered, "I'm too old," perform in showcases they never imagined they'd have the courage to do.

I've watched students make lifelong friends after walking in convinced they wouldn't know anyone.

I've watched people discover strength they didn't know they had.

Not just physical strength.

The kind that shows up when you realize you're capable of far more than you gave yourself credit for.

And here's something else I've noticed.

The students in their forties, fifties, and sixties often have an advantage.

They're not trying to impress anyone.

They're not chasing perfection.

They're here because they want to feel alive.

And that turns out to be a pretty incredible reason to learn.

It's Never Really Been About Pole or Aerial

People sometimes ask me what makes pole and aerial so special.

I don't think it's the tricks.

Or the inversions.

Or finally getting that climb you've been working on.

Those things are wonderful.

But they're not why people stay.

They stay because something quietly shifts.

• They stop apologizing for taking up space.

• They stop defining themselves by what they can't do.

• They remember what it feels like to laugh while learning something new.

• They reconnect with a version of themselves they thought had disappeared.

That's the magic.

Not the pole.

Not the hoop.

Not the silks.

The permission.

• Permission to be a beginner.

• Permission to be messy.

• Permission to try.

• Permission to play.

• Permission to have one hour that's yours and yours alone.

• Permission to start again.

So...Are You Too Old?

I don't know how old you are.

Thirty-two.

Forty-six.

Fifty-eight.

Sixty-five.

Honestly...

It doesn't matter.

Because I don't think the question is really about age.

I think it's about courage.

And if you're reading this, maybe it's because you are sitting in your car before your first class...

Wondering if you should just drive away...

I hope you'll stay.

Because I've seen what can happen when people choose courage over comfort.

I've seen lives change because someone took one small step they almost talked themselves out of.

The longest walk isn't from your car to the front door.

It's from who you've always been...

...to who you might become.

And if you've been waiting for permission to take that walk—

If you've been waiting for a sign that it's not too late...

This is it.

I'll see you inside. ❤️

— Tricia