Good afternoon, Wednesday. Yes, I'm aware it's almost evening and no longer afternoon, really. Whatevs. I'm chillin'. This whole dark early, cold thing has me a bit askew.
So with all of this free time, I've been going to my local Pure Barre classes religiously. I am often reminded that there are many places I go where I don't necessarily belong, and Pure Barre is one such place.
Barre classes are for women who want to have bodies like dancers, but more often than not, it's just full of skinny anorexics (what you want fat anorexics?) who are squatting as fast as they can to get rid of a spare half pound or so. Barre exercise is a cruel practice of mini movements, most performed on a ballet barre, where one plies and kicks and extends to the point of muscle failure. Shaking is considered a GREAT thing, and one is even rewarded with a "great shake" from the teacher when one reaches full muscle meltdown. So if you ever wanted to do be bent down in a plie, shaking like you have to go to the bathroom really, really bad, this is the class for you. I will say that it does wonderful things to your ass and thighs, and builds some nice abs to boot, if you have those, that is.
When one enters the class, there is almost inevitably a cadre of Lululemon clad ladies, stretching to perfection in socks with treads on the bottom of them, a barre class "must"- I don't know why. It's just a thing. It helps when you are trying to dig into the ground after holding a plank for two minutes to have some traction. That's my take.
So I've been doing barre for a while and I'm not the best, but I'm far from the worst. As a woman of Eastern European descent, I did not get the Bolshoi ready genes, rather, the ones more equipped for easy childbirth and hard labor and the ability to haul furniture over my head. No matter how hard I try, a ballerina body I will never possess, but I like feeling strong and I suppose it's better to feel more solid in the thighs vs. walking around with squishy gummy bear legs. But it's hard to look around and not get annoyed.
So I always stand by the back barre, by the door, and not because I'm looking for a quick escape, though many times, that's tempting. I stand there because it is one of the only spots in the room where you can feel the intermittent airco kick on, because that room is lined in track lighting, hot track lighting, and wall to wall carpet that doesn't exactly lend itself to ventilation.
And in the morning class I often take, there is a women there who is OVER IT. Maybe even more than I am, which is tough. Needless to say, I love her.
She's in her 50s and is more Russian peasant as well, and she also has discovered the secret air conditioning blast in the back of the room. It's usually only the two of us back there, because most chicks like to look in the mirror while they're busting moves, but not me. The relief of not having to look is way better for me. I definitely look better not doing these exercises, of this I'm certain.
Today she comes in, puts down her two pound weights, rubber ball and tube, and says "Fuck there are some skinny bitches in here today. G-dammit."
To which I reply, "And by today do you mean every day?"
"And it's hot as balls in here today. It's like menopause up in here, not that these skinny bitches sweat", she says, as she pulls on her tank top which is creeping up a bit too much, even before class has begun. She is already sweating, as am I.
I then ask her why she thinks this particular class is so crowded, to which she replies "because nobody wants to take the later class with that teacher and that double ring thing".
I know exactly who and what she means. There is one teacher at this studio who hails from the South where clearly they do things differently. In addition to the typical torture, this lady makes you slip some crazy rubber double ring thing over your thighs, which, for girls with thighs, is less than pleasant. And then she wants you to lift your leg with that crazy contraption around both of them, all while you're tucking in your stomach and squeezing your ass, while Taylor Swift's "Shake it Off" plays, twice in a row: "Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake...."
She then says "G-d I hate it here. I hate it SO MUCH". And then the class begins, with our teacher, who is clearly a dancer and tells us, if we are good, we can do a split by Thanksgiving. Since I've been here for a while, I have heard her say the same thing about other holidays, and since it's Halloween and I still can't do one, I'm not expecting any Thanksgiving miracles. And from the looks of my friend, she's not either.
I don't know whether to be offended that when she speaks of skinny bitches she is in no way meaning me, or to be deliriously happy that I have found a like minded soul to stand in the back corner with- we would have been friends in high school- smoking Marlboros in the back of the gym, hating everyone and everything. I should ask her to go out for a drink. I no longer smoke cigarettes, but I wouldn't be surprised if she did. It's nice that even in a class full of anorexic Brooklyn ballerina types, I find the misfit toy. I've always been the girl who finds the broody type- whether it's been the gentleman at the back of the bar scowling at everyone or the hot flashy woman in a barre class full of brides and new moms. It's just the way I am. I need to be more in touch with the fact that no matter how hard I try to roll in places like barre class, I'll never quite cut it. Thank goodness there's usually somebody else there that feels exactly the same way. It's more fun that way.
And that's what's up this I'm dancing as fast I can kind of Wednesday in the borough of Brooklyn. Yours, in sitting in the back of the bus and pouring one out for the cynics. Shake it off. XO