It was a Monday afternoon when, during an energetic phone-call, my best friend shared that she would be trialing a barre class that evening. Barre, a ballet-inspired body-weight exercise class, intrigued me because I have had a slow-burn love for ballet for most of my life. If money and time weren’t a constraint, I would absolutely sign up for private adult ballet lessons.
However, since time and money are a hindrance, I thought barre would be the “next best thing.” After all, they do use a ballet barre. That would be close enough, wouldn’t it? I told my friend I would join her that evening to find out.
If you are like me, ballet lover but inexperienced in the dance, you may be in for a cruel awakening if or when you attend your first barre class. Hear me when I say barre is not ballet. Yes, the barre is used. Yes, feet are put into dance positions. Yes, some of the exercises actually look like the ones ballet dancers perform in commercials and movies.
But don’t be fooled. It is very much just a workout and not at all a dance. A quick web or video search would have helped clarify this for me, I chose experiential learning for some reason.
On that Monday night, we were two women walking into a barre class, completely naïve to the burn that was awaiting us.
If you are someone who has endured a barre class, you understand the initial disgust for the words “pulse” and “hold it right there.” I say “initial disgust” to encourage myself, assuming these words get easier to hear. Do they? Or are they doomed to create a crease in my brow and a scowl on my lips each time I hear them? Please, if you know, comment below and tell me honestly.
I still see it now: “Pulse! Pulse! Pulse!” our instructor Kim bellowed repeatedly. I was on my toes in second position with my knees bent. Heels weren’t allowed to touch the ground, but each pulse was a beat my heel would lower to hover just above it. On fire, my calves threatened to collapse. My head would roll forward as I willed my body to trust the process. Kim was calling out encouraging exclamations, but they were drowned out by the heavy breathing and moaning of the participants as they also tried to remain obedient to the process.
Thankfully, Kim offered more than just painful words of encouragement during the reps. She offered words of refreshment, too. Those words gave me the most drive. They were words like “last one” or a glorious countdown from four. These were accepted like a thirst-quenching glass of water.
The moment that stands out best was while I was at the barre. My arms grasped the barre with desperation, shaking as I leaned back to sit in an invisible chair. From beneath my suspended body, my calves yelled at my forearms, declaring themselves to be the greater sufferers. My insistence on keeping position was driven by the fear of falling backwards onto my unprotected tailbone.
When I heard Kim’s “4—3—2—1”, I felt my adrenaline surge. With each declining number, I felt joy sneak into my psyche. By the end of the countdown, I stood in relief and pride. I did it. My friend did it. I was proud of us.
Do you know who also did it? Kim. At four months pregnant, she not only harnessed enough energy for the room, but she also demonstrated accountability to her words and participated in most of the exercises. She balanced the isolated muscle exercises with a few doses of cardio. Her positive energy and wise council for us that needed a positional adjustment made for a supportive evening.
I don’t like to be out of breath. I don’t like to be driven to a state of survival. Exercise is best enjoyed by me when there is nothing to push through. But Kim didn’t let me sit there. She pressed me onward, past my comfort zone, past my limitations, and into a victory I didn’t think was attainable. Her words challenged my initial regret in taking the class.
Barre was not what I expected, and I still think I would enjoy actual ballet more, but barre gave me a new outlook on hard things. I realized how words have tangible meaning in the context of an exercise class. These lessons were brought to me by my instructor, so I am passing them onto you, whether you make your way into a barre class or not.
We were two women who walked into a barre class. We both left tired and wobbly legged. We both will go again. So, if given the opportunity, I say give it a shot.
Stephanie Morris is a transcriptionist and writer based in Alberta, Canada. She is a wife, a mom of two, and a newcomer to the career-writing world. As a fancier of history and literature, she aspires to blend the two in fiction and nonfiction pieces. To follow Stephanie’s writing adventures, find her at @words.and.smores on Instagram.
