So if you know me, you know I’m no super star workout queen with Barbie proportions. I sweat just saying the word cardio, buy in to the “hot baths burn as many calories as a 10 mile run,” and find chocolate to be unfairly left out of the food pyramid– (or is it a plate now?) haters gonna hate. I’ve donated a lot of money to various gyms over the southeast and attempted to be a “runner” in college for a PE class my boyfriend (now husband, even after that crap) convinced me to join with him. (“It’ll be fun,” he said. LIKE HELL. I legit convinced him to sit in the car for the entirety of one of our “runs.” This was before Fitbits or fitness trackers so the teacher had no clue. And I’m not sorry I cheated. I’m not. Not one ounce of sleep lost.) Running is for politicians and refrigerators.
However, I’ve just about fallen in love with the exercise known as Barre. (Who even am I??? I just used love and exercise in the same sentence!) I found this rather addictive class at 229 Yoga here in Albany a few babies ago but didn’t officially fall off the wagon of sedentary life until after the babe started pre-school. Now I know that it’s not unique to the workout world, but it is in Albany.
And 229 Yoga is the only place here to get my fix. Which is just fine by me.
The Barre maids (AKA instructors) there are fabulous. The head Barre tender (AKA owner), Penny, ensures she has only the best. These gals serve up a cocktail of well curated exercise moves every class 229 offers. They are all high-energy but with their own flavor, which keeps things fresh and fun. The music stays loud and lively to drown out the screaming of your muscles as they sculpt in to the long and lean sinews they were always meant to be (at least mine long to be). Yet it’s not too loud for you to hear the words of encouragement from your instructor: “Stay with me!” “Last 10 best 10!” “Perfect your form!” “Think about how good your legs/butt/thighs are gonna look in your shorts!” (this is my favorite) “Beautiful shakes over here!” “BREATHE!”
One of the goals of the class is to “find your shake.” Fear not. This isn’t the kind of shake you get from when you slap your postpartum belly or the kind when you twerk. (And if you don’t know what twerking is, we can’t be friends. Just kidding. Kind of . But if you don’t know, don’t google it. Just don’t. STOP.) This shake is only found when you’ve exhausted a specific muscle and brought it to the very brink of death. Just prior to dying, said muscle shakes like a literal bowl of jello. Like a white flag flapping in retreat…and apparently THIS is what makes your muscle change for the better. This is what whips those thighs, that booty, them abs into shape. And it hurts so good! So good!
With a name like Barre, you’ve probably got this image of leotards and ballet shoes and slicked buns (at least I did), but au contraire. (There’s a little French for y’all since we’re talking ballet here…) It’s more yoga leggings, bare feet (or workout socks), and messy buns. While there is a ballet barre along the wall, there is nothing overly prima donna ballerina about the workout. Sure, we attempt (ok, I attempt) some graceful movements but the look of them is quite deceiving. Those simple movements turn in to some tush torching pain. Like hot sauce for your fanny muscles! In the best possible way. And if I’d quit chocolate, pasta, and wine, I feel sure I’d garner the body of JLo in no time (what? I’m just Betsy from the block) with these workouts. Surely. But I’m no quitter.
Doesn’t that all sound intriguing? If so, I dare you to come try a class. Unless you’re judgemental or already have the body of JLo. If the latter is the case, you can still come, but you can’t stand next to me.
Barre tender, I’ll have another! Just put it on my tab.
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