Barre kicked my arse. And I liked it.

September 20, 2015 Ashley 0 Comments

Anybody here ever done ballet?

When I was about five or six, I used to pretend I did. When I was getting in trouble, being made fun of, or generally just uncomfortable – I issued the same go-to line indignantly: “I can do ballet.” While I’m not sure what exactly I meant by this, I can only assume I’d gotten a feel by that point for how much people seem to value beauty, grace, and the capacity to do ridiculous things with your body. Ballet, from what I’d seen, seemed to pack all that in neatly. If I could do this, I assumed, people would respect me despite my innumerable foibles. And, since I didn’t genuinely know how to perform this lovely art, I did what any blossoming psychopath does: I lied and said I did. And then convinced myself that my thunderous thumping around the floors of our poor old home was essentially the same thing as what I’d seen on T.V. Even after trying a few actual classes, I found that the only similarity I shared with the skilled chicks in my class – was our duds.

Fastforward about twenty-someth years and the remnants of the dream remain within me.

Because, as I balanced awkwardly like a pained, Parkinsonian flamingo in my first “Barre” class several Sunday afternoons ago (a program that combines pilates, yoga, and actual ballet training moves), I couldn’t help but feel five again. And teased by my chuckling mother for sounding more like Babar than a ballerina. For the first ten minutes, I shook, burned, and poured sweat. Every second of that first sixth of an hour, I considered quitting. Just like I’d done in childhood ballet when it got too tough.

But then, something happened.

I did that thing you’re not meant to do in these classes (but I do all the time in yoga): look at the other people around you to take inventory on how much better they’re doing than you are (and thusly use it for self-deprecation fuel). And something happened when I did that. As I read the faces of the chicks who were badassing through it, I collectively observed from them this expresh that felt crazily familiar. Ah, yes. It was that “in the zone” face. That face you get when you’re blocking out all the stuff I was admittedly drowning in ATM: insecurity, ruminations on the past, the commute home (to be fair, this class is effing far from me), and how badly you’re gonna decimate your fridge with your face once you get there. Anyone worth emulating in this class was miles away from any of that nonsense. And, the moment I recognized that “zone”, I associated it with times I’ve been there myself. Stand up paddleboarding. Work. My bidaily runs. Yoga. “How does it feel?” I tried to remember. “How do I get back to there?” And then I remembered: It all starts with even breathing. Then you engage your core. Then you focus on exactly what you’re being tasked with, and carry it out breath by breath, moment by moment, allowing zero room for distracting thoughts to wheedle their way in. Because that’s all “I wanna quit” is. A thought.

Via somatic introspection, you calm your body constantly as it endures something brutal – and your mind falls in line as a result. In fact, I kinda smiled when I read Greatist Expert Jessi Kneeland, (founder of Remodel Fitness) confirm my experience as something universal to Barre bishes by saying: “…Barre can improve muscular activation for frequently underused muscles by strengthening the neuro-muscular (mind-body) connection.”

And where do you start?

With good Barre posture (which I had to be constantly reminded of after fumbling in at the last minute in a tizzy):

Ah, yes, that sounds familiar.

Along with “Down an inch! Up an inch!” Because, though you’re swimming in a sea of aerobic accessories like dumbbells, bands, and balls between bar work, one of the key concepts that makes Barre unique is its focus on isometrics. Compared to more compound type exercises, the idea’s that you keep the muscle the same length during a contraction by doing tiny movements (unlike a plunging lunge or booty dropping squat). Per the Barre site, it’s said to be an optimal approach: “In fact, you’re getting a killer workout because the one-inch increments are enough to fire up the muscle and make it more elastic, but not too big to tear the muscle.”

(Ah, yes. I remember this picture.
I’m the one you can’t see because I’m shaking too furiously to be captured on film.)

So, at what point does all the toe pointing pay off?

After you pay off (aside from with your sweat) about $20 to $30 a sesh. I’d almost say it was worth it, if the place wasn’t so damned far from me. With no parking. However, if you’ve got the cash to watch your body quiver its way into a lithe new form, you should notice some physical changes relatively quickly. That said, here’s the important part you’re probably gonna gloss over but shouldn’t because it’s crucial: Diet. Matters. While Googling how long it’d take before I turned into Alexis Ren (whole reason I finally came to a class in the first place), I encountered a very interested blog. It was written by this chick who’d been doing Barre for the better part of a year, was toning up, but still felt tubby. Why? Her diet, she admits. After 8 months of stagnation, she finally jettisoned the junk food and kept going to Barre for the usual three to five times a week she’d been doing. And… after a little less than three months, homegirl’d lost twenty effing pounds. I gift you that li’l anecdote to remind you just how vital your victual quality is if you really want to change anything about your bod. And, once you do pair up more of the salad bar with Barre, what happens? I could sit here and list all the different body parts you’ll tight-ify, but because it’s a total body modifier, I’d rather just link you to some WTF images like these which I can’t embed on here because they’re just too sexy.

All in all, Barre was brutal.

Anything that transformative generally is. And I loved it. But what I loved most about it was the specific experience I had with it that day. Had I gone any other day when I was just bumbling around in my body like Ironman trying out his first suit, all disconnected and stuff, I’d likely be saying something like, “This is dumb; what a buncha wannabes” because I’d’ve failed myself. (And taking it out on others is far easier than deep, meaningful, introspection.) But, for whatever reason, self-introspection was something I was willing to do this day (probably because when you spend that much money, you wanna make it count). As I looked around that room, I saw some women wearing that child-version-of-me look. Confused. Clumsy. Seconds from quitting. A couple years ago, this is where my hopeless gaze would’ve terminated – along with my own participation in the class. This day, however, my glance shifted hopefully toward someone I wanted to be. A handful of them. Not just former ballerinas. But badasses.

I think more than anything – this class was helpful as a validating reminder. A reminder that this self-calming awareness mechanism is something we can invite into all of life’s miscellaneous, turbulent, up-an-inch-es and down-an-inch-es. It can be tough to recruit when it comes to the crunch. But each time I do, I feel a bit of my childhood insecurity get chipped away. No more pretending to be good at things – just focusing my way through till I am. In that way, Barre def set a new bar for me – both on the exercise awareness level, and for life in general. And, when I keep this in mind, I don’t have to be that five year old, diffident, ugly duckling anymore – hiding under its mother’s wing.

(Even though I’m still clumsy AF.)

Final verdict? I’d definitely suggest trying this class out at least once.

I’d go every day if it didn’t take forty minutes to get there.