I didn’t resolve to start working out in the New Year. I just quietly told myself to do better.
One morning, I clicked on Mary In Manhattan’s blog. She recently posted about her Pure Barre fitness experience. She made it sound worthwhile. I commented and told Mary I was going to try it, too. Striving to be a woman of my word, I was suddenly committed to finding a Pure Barre studio near me.
Days later, I registered for my first class.
My Pure Barre instructor was encouraging and helpful. She was an adorable ultra-fit former gymnast named Betsey. Her ability to move as she did, fascinated me. From the sitting position, she could whisk her leg straight into the air, the sole of her foot facing the ceiling. I could barely point my knee toward the ceiling.
The students around me knew all the movements. They were fluid and synchronized, easily keeping up with Betsey. The Pure Barre moves and vocabulary were foreign to me. Unnatural. I felt so awkward. I was a hot mess. So very different from the other students in so many ways:
- Most of the students were slim and extra slim. My body is not fit yet. I’ve been near sedentary for months.
- Everyone wore black yoga leggings or capris. I had on yoga pants, with a slight tear in the knee, no less. At least they were black.
- Everyone had on bright neon-colored layered tank tops. I wore a white t-shirt.
- Everyone was outfitted in black non-slip socks. Mine were tan. They were the only non-slip socks I had, left over from a former hospital stay.
Thankfully, the 55-minute session went by quickly. As much as I suffered, I decided to go back. Betsey convinced me to try again with the studio’s new member special discount.
But I have to admit, the thing that got me though the tough parts was thinking about the pancakes and turkey bacon I was going to make as soon as I got home.
And right after breakfast and a shower, I knew I’d be sitting comfortably in my chair, writing!