O, prissy barre class
I scoffed at you; to my shame
Now I cannot walk.
"Seriously?" I said to myself, when my friend Chanda suggested I try the latest trend in personal fitness at her studio, IM=X Pilates. I mean, I'm not one to brag, but I've got some good workout game, and the notion of standing in place and fluttering my arms and legs around didn't strike me as particularly worthwhile. I am a busy working mom, for heaven's sake. No time for tutus.
But I went anyway, because I actually love Pilates, and figured if Chanda suggested it, a barre workout had to have something going for it, if only the opportunity to feel like a pretty ballet dancer for a while. (My last attempt at this, when I was about six, ended in ignominy and an irritated Frenchwoman suggesting I might be better suited to field hockey.)
Chanda led me and a group of about seven other woman - many of them impressively taut - through a series of leg bends and arm lifts that felt incredibly easy ... until they didn't. About halfway through my IM=X barre class, my shoulders began to burn and my thighs started protesting in stereo. By the time we were done, I was drenched in sweat and whimpering for mercy. Two days later, my butt still barks every time I approach a set of stairs. And this is good, because after eating more than my share of nummy Chocolat du Cali Bressan eggs over the recent holiday, I need my butt to do something other than strain the seams of my yoga pants.
So here's to another lesson learned over here at MamaKu's place: don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Or it just might knock you back!
I scoffed at you; to my shame
Now I cannot walk.
"Seriously?" I said to myself, when my friend Chanda suggested I try the latest trend in personal fitness at her studio, IM=X Pilates. I mean, I'm not one to brag, but I've got some good workout game, and the notion of standing in place and fluttering my arms and legs around didn't strike me as particularly worthwhile. I am a busy working mom, for heaven's sake. No time for tutus.
But I went anyway, because I actually love Pilates, and figured if Chanda suggested it, a barre workout had to have something going for it, if only the opportunity to feel like a pretty ballet dancer for a while. (My last attempt at this, when I was about six, ended in ignominy and an irritated Frenchwoman suggesting I might be better suited to field hockey.)
Chanda led me and a group of about seven other woman - many of them impressively taut - through a series of leg bends and arm lifts that felt incredibly easy ... until they didn't. About halfway through my IM=X barre class, my shoulders began to burn and my thighs started protesting in stereo. By the time we were done, I was drenched in sweat and whimpering for mercy. Two days later, my butt still barks every time I approach a set of stairs. And this is good, because after eating more than my share of nummy Chocolat du Cali Bressan eggs over the recent holiday, I need my butt to do something other than strain the seams of my yoga pants.
So here's to another lesson learned over here at MamaKu's place: don't knock it 'til you've tried it. Or it just might knock you back!
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