I joined a barre class. Spoiler – It was a big mistake
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Intimidated by the mid-rift revealing 20-something bunnies at the local gym – I joined a ‘ladies only’ fitness centre, tucked away in suburbia.
My exercise routine consists of a little cardio (walking downstairs to grab a snack) and stretching (for the remote).
I approached my first fitness class with a healthy attitude and with the assurance from the instructor that I would not be the worst in the class.
I was.
The class was Barre. As I had donned a tutu in my youth and with faith in muscle memory – I was pretty sure I had this…
I had forgotten about plies. This is serious strength training – my legs did not just quiver but shake – I mean spasm type shake.
How those graceful ballerinas and ballerinos leap and glide across the stage like they are on a wire I have no comprehension.
I am contemplating moving the bed downstairs.
Going down the stairs is easy – it’s a controlled fall after all.
Going upstairs is a challenge – lifting a quad induces an involuntary groan from somewhere deep and primal.
I will go back – I will I will I will.