Pole-dancing: strip-club sleaze or Olympic sleaze? Standing on her head, she grasps the pole with her thighs and hauls herself upright, then swings out horizontally at 90 degrees and rotates slowly. She back-flips over to a second, rotating pole and begins to spin around it like a top. After a series of extraordinary gravity-defying poses, she ends her four-minute display revolving upside-down, apparently holding on with her abdominal muscles alone. It is a breathtakingly acrobatic routine, more reminiscent of Cirque du Soleil than Spearmint Rhino. After the applause dies down, four young women in 1950s-style bikinis climb on stage. Two sweep the floor while the others shin briskly up the poles and polish them from top to bottom with checked dusters. Meanwhile, a neat line of suited judges - all but one female -frown in concentration as they evaluate each of the athletes" compulsory moves according to strict criteria. What to a clubland habitué would seem a perfect Chopstick and an elegant Spatchcock is to these stern-faced critics merely the requisite F34 and F46. Greta Pontarelli, 63, defends her title in the 50-plus category (DAN BURN-FORTI) If such changes seem a little po-faced, they probably need to be, because there's no doubt that pole sports has an image problem. In June a pole-dancing display at a school fête made the national press when outraged parents walked out, declaring it inappropriate. Last year, Swansea University Students" Union briefly banned its student pole society, claiming that the sport was "inextricably linked to the multimillion-pound sex industry" and that women who took part "have been deceived into thinking this is a way of taking charge of their sexuality." And although pole has ancient roots in China, where it was used by circus performers, and in the Indian Mallakhamba tradition, in which wrestlers train by performing gymnastics on wooden stakes, pole-dancing itself is said to originate from the travelling fairs during the American depression in the 1920s, and the hoochie-coochie dancers who performed their belly dances holding on to the central tent pole. Nevertheless, pole's popularity as a sport is growing exponentially, partly, no doubt, because of its risqué reputation, but also because it requires less space than gymnastics and gives the core muscles and arms a formidable work-out. Globally, its enthusiasts number in the millions - and include hardened he-men such as the actor Jason Statham, whose ability to perform the Human Flag (supporting the body horizontally from a pole, a feat Pontarelli performs apparently effortlessly) is celebrated all over the internet as a proof of his iron-clad masculinity. The audience at York Hall in Bethnal Green (DAN BURN-FORTI) More than 150 athletes from 30 countries are taking part in these World Pole Sports Championships, including an Irish double act who appeared on Britain's Got Talent. It's a sign of the times that the tickets have completely sold out. "We're going to have to find a larger venue next year," says KT Coates, president of the IPSF. The championships are the brainchild of this brisk athlete, a former showgirl at the Raymond Revue Bar. "I've been in pole for 20 years, and I started to get fed up with people not taking us seriously," she tells me. I can't see why we aren't accepted like gymnasts. People have these preconceived ideas - they see it as titillation - but what we do is so far removed from that. You can't say we're any different from synchronised swimming. I think people are starting to understand that pole has every aspect of a well-attended Olympic sport. But can pole be taken seriously while it's still used as a grinding prop by strippers? "I have no interest in denying where pole came from," says Coates. There will always be exotic pole, but also pole art and pole sports. We're creating something new for family viewing. So, under her aegis, random drugs testing has been introduced to these championships, and there are strict rules on clothing: it mustn't be shed during a routine and cleavage is banned. Most competitors are wearing Bridget Jones-style big pants and crop-tops, though men are permitted to go topless. "You have to show some skin, or you don't stick to the pole," explains Coates. The strategy seems to be working: a few days after the event the IPSF is officially recognised as the governing body of pole by the Federation of International Gymnastics and by SportAccord, the umbrella organisation for both Olympic and non-Olympic international sports federations. Meanwhile, pole athletes have been invited to compete in the 2017 World Urban Games alongside established sports such as basketball and cycling. So perhaps the Olympics are not a total pipe dream after all. After her performance, I find Pontarelli catching her breath backstage. The petite Californian has jewels stuck to her forehead and purple-sprayed hair, but her sturdy bikini displays a six-pack that any lifeguard would envy. Now a life coach, she was a gymnastics champion in the 1960s, and a competitive martial artist in the 1970s. She only took up pole-dancing four years ago, hoping to find a sport that would ward off the osteoporosis that runs in the family. After two years she won her first title at the Southern Pole Masters Championship 2012. She's here not only to defend her title, but to prove that age is no barrier to physical excellence. "I'm probably fitter now than I have ever been," she says. Though I'll never be able to lift my foot to touch the back of my head. She demonstrates nevertheless; only a couple of inches to go, I'd say. My guide to the proceedings is Gini Zdesar, the owner of a pole fitness studio in Kings Langley, Hertfordshire. Tall, tanned and tawny-haired, clad in neat white shorts and a pink vest, Zdesar exudes a Joan Hunter-Dunn-ish wholesomeness. I am not surprised to learn she was originally a competitive tennis player. (In fact, she's even taught Pat Cash some moves - on her website, there's a photo of him looking rather flustered hanging off her pole. "He loves an alternative sport," she says.) A former advertising executive then manager of Nobu, Zdesar has been practising pole for 15 years, ever since she tried a class at her local gym. She began teaching three years ago when she was living in Bahrain, shortly after the birth of her daughter. "I wanted to lose the baby weight, so I brought my pole over," she explains. I got so fit so fast, and my friends started asking me to teach them too. In the end, about 80 per cent of my clients were Muslims. They'd arrive in their burkas and then strip off. Their husbands showed an unusual interest in this new exercise regime, she adds with a chuckle. But I teach strength rather than the writhing and the body waves. So would she let her daughter try it? "She's on my pole all the time," says Zdesar, unworried. It's like a playground for kids. She does gym and she's already the strongest in her class. While competitors in the 40-plus category limber up, I wander around the hall, examining the merchandise, which ranges from the serious (Mighty Grip spray to stick you to the pole) to the frivolous: Bling It Up wigs, Hair Crystalz and outfits that range from bondage-style leatherette to frilly pink tutus. On one side of the stage a huge banner proclaims pole burn treatment centre. Yvette Austin, who is BBC South East's environment correspondent (DAN BURN-FORTI) I return to my seat as Yvette Austin, 46, the British entry, bounds on in a gold and white crop-top and trunks. Swarming up the spinning pole, she holds herself upside-down in a full splits, revolving there supported only by one inner thigh. How come the sport attracts so many older participants? "Gymnasts have to retire at 17," explains Zdesar. The body can't take the stress. But the pole is almost like a walking stick - it gives you more support. Going backstage to congratulate Austin on her performance, I find her with tears on her false eyelashes. "I missed out a move," she says despairingly. Austin's day job is as BBC South East's environment correspondent, a fact that caused a minor scandal in 2010 when a tabloid found out about her unorthodox hobby. "I used to be a gymnast as a child," she explains. I need to take exercise and this is very similar to artistic gymnastics on a pole. Do the connotations of her chosen sport bother her? "Many strippers have become very good pole athletes," she says. In many ways, we owe this sport to what they have done. She feels it's "empowering" that women have taken pole out of the sex clubs and turned it into a physically demanding sport for both sexes. It's been a very long journey to get it this far. Alex Shchukin of Ukraine (DAN BURN-FORTI) Behind her, Alex Shchukin, a Ukrainian competitor who, Zdesar tells me, was the first person to somersault down the pole, is strolling around on his hands, displaying a rippling set of abs. And in a Chile-blazoned tracksuit, 10-year-old Camila Castro is rosining her palms as a make-up artist sprays her hair with red glitter. "We are very proud of her," says the make-up artist. These young girls are the ones who will change the image of pole, and it will be natural. But I feel uncomfortable. My own daughter is the same age: would I be happy to see her gyrating on a pole in front of a paying audience? It seems unpleasantly voyeuristic, even though Coates has assured me that the rules on the children's costume and make-up are as strict as possible. When Camila bounds on stage, a grin on her face, I begin to change my mind. Her routine looks like pure gymnastics and, in her small hands, the pole is no more sinister than a climbing-frame or ballet barre. She touches the soles of her feet to her top-knot, then finishes in dramatic style, plummeting head-first from the top of the pole to the ground, stopping millimetres above the stage with a screech of thighs as I cover my eyes, certain she'll never walk again. After her comes Aimee Hilton, 13, from Warrington, who performs in a purple Grecian-inspired costume. Ten women from her dance club who are all wearing matching Team Aimee T-shirts rise to their feet to cheer her on. Another child with braids in her hair messes up her routine and carries on grimly to the end with tears pouring down her cheeks and sympathetic tears welling in the eyes of several of the audience. Afterwards I meet Aimee, who has braces on her teeth and is now cuddling a snowman toy. Was she nervous? She nods shyly. Like many of the competitors, she used to be a gymnast before changing to pole sports. "I'm much happier she's doing this," says her mother Michelle, a PA for a firm of chartered accountants. It's a lot less dangerous. Greta Pontarelli performing her winning routine The day ends with the winning athletes mounting Olympic-style podia to be presented with their medals. Greta Pontarelli comfortably hangs on to her title; Yvette Austin comes third, as does Aimee Hilton in the Novice 10-14 category. And I go home wondering if anything could ever get me flying as a human flag.