Lip gloss: check. Legwarmers: check. Pom-poms: check. No, I’m not auditioning as an extra in the thirtysomething version of High School Musical, but attending the latest exercise craze to hit the UK: cheerleading fitness.

As a high school girl in America I was a bookish bespectacled chubbster more concerned with conjugating French verbs than joining lithe blondes in cheering the school football team to victory. I believed that it was my God-given right to detest cheerleaders as much as they disliked me; their bimbo perkiness, crimped ponytails and Prom Queen crowns irritated every feminist fibre in my body. Friends in the UK sometimes ask me if attending high school in America was anything like the films that portray the experience as cliquey, vacuous and nasty. “No,” I always reply, “it was worse.”

So I wanted to hate Samantha Rea, the founder of Cheer Fit, as much as I had all the cheerleaders who made my teenage years hell. The meanness meted by those in the cool crowd towards anyone vaguely different — fat, ginger, foreign, whatever — can have long-lasting psychological scars. Rea is possibly the bounciest, perkiest person I have met but her enthusiasm was infectious. I couldn’t help but like her, despite my worst intentions.

Cheerleading began in late-19th- century America as an all-male activity; in 1923 women joined the ranks and quickly took over. Popular in schools and colleges, cheerleaders began providing half-time entertainment for professional football spectators in the 1960s. It wasn’t until the 1980s that cheerleading became highly competitive, focusing on gymnastics, precise dance routines and static grins.

It is increasingly popular in the UK, and the two main cheerleading associations are fighting for it to be recognised as an official sport. There are more than 500 competitive teams here, and hundreds more in schools, youth clubs and sports team affiliates. Even my beloved Burnley FC has a cheering squad, the Bees Knees.

Cheer Fit meets twice a week to train in the fine arts of tumbling, stunts, jumping, dancing and cheering. The girls are in their twenties and thirties; Hayley is a solicitor; Jo is a communications consultant for African business and is completing her master’s degree; Lucy is a psychotherapist. In the changing rooms they instruct me in cheerleading essentials: Cheer Face — a cheesy exaggerated grin and wink combo; Spank Pants — a decorative pair of knickers to protect modesty while jumping about; and Positive Attitude, a condition every cheerleader should have in abundance. And professional women too, seemingly.

Cheerleading has always celebrated the body beautiful; YouTube is rife with mocking home videos of love-handled cheerleaders who dare to tumble in a miniskirt. From the pin-ups of the famous Dallas Cowboy troupe to the former cheerleader Kirsten Dunst in the seminal bitchfest film Bring It On, the message is clear: plus-size sweeties ruin the line-up. But cheerleading is an unlikely, though effective, flab-fighting tool. And having lost 56lb (25kg) after doing Celebrity Fit Club in 2003, I know you can’t lose weight without exercising — and you need to keep it up.

“Girls, grab your pom-poms,” Rea says, leading us in an aerobic warm-up to a disco track. I pick up a pair of shiny pink and silver pom-poms and feel instantly transformed, if a bit fraudulent. Somehow I end up in the front — not my preferred place in an exercise class. There is nowhere to hide and, to make it worse, I am wearing a loose-fitting Eighties- inspired top with leggings; everyone else is in a tight-fitting leotard and crop-top. The only thing we have in common is our regulation hot pink legwarmers. We lunge, leg-kick, squat and stretch for 20 minutes; it is a good aerobic energy boost and I am ready for more action.

When we put all the bits together into a mini routine, I get most of it right. I wind up shaking my booty in the wrong direction, and my pom-poms are in the air when they are meant to be on my hips, but there isn’t a snigger or a snarl in sight.

Rea is serious about making cheerleading accessible. Unlike my schoolgirl experiences, Cheer Fit classes aren’t competitive, they’re only for fitness and fun. When the team performs at charity events, Rea can source any size uniform. “It’s difficult to challenge the stereotypes,” she says. “I’m dedicated to making cheerleading more inclusive.”

So is cheerleading a sport or merely an excuse to glam up and punch the air? It’s certainly good exercise, a little bit kitsch and a lot of fun. And it is refreshing to be in an exercise class full of supportive and encouraging women. I even break into a sweat. “Cheerleaders don’t sweat, they sparkle,” Samantha informs me. So I sparkle and imagine the ghosts of cheerleaders past grinning a big toothy smile.

For further information, visit cheerfit.co.uk

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