If you are foolish (oops I mean brave) enough to try barre, there are some things you should know. Such as the terms lift and tuck and clench and thrust.
Health Humor

Pure Barre or Pure Hell: 5 Things You Learn About Yourself After a Month of Barre

If you are foolish (oops I mean brave) enough to try barre, there are some things you should know. Such as the terms lift and tuck and clench and thrust.

By Julie Walthers of Ghost Editorial 

For Hanukkah/Christmas (or what I cleverly refer to as Chronikkah), my husband was thoughtful enough to buy me a monthly membership to Pure Barre. I have a love/hate relationship with these boutique workout classes. They are outrageously overpriced, promote a cult-like following, and generally fall under the category of “Things that White People Like.” But Lord knows that if I made enough money to pay the $225 monthly price tag for the Barre Experience, I would totally do it because sometimes I think that if I looked like a ballerina, my life would be better. There is no logic or data to back this up, which is probably why places like Pure Barre exist.

At the end of my month, I didn’t grow 6-inches taller, lose 10 pounds, or develop delts like Michelle Obama. But I came away from this experience with something much more important than rock-hard abs and toned thighs. Indeed. This wasn’t about strengthening and toning my inner thighs – this was about strengthening and toning my inner self.  And here is what my newly enlightened inner self came away with after a month of going to the barre. 

1. Pure Barre? More like Pure Judgment. 

For the most part I’m a nice person, but I’m also super judgmental. Not necessarily in a mean-spirited way, but yes, sometimes in a mean-spirited way. Though mostly in a way that could be interpreted as me projecting my own insecurities on my fellow Barreiers (Barreaganders? Barridians?). It is impossible to look at the other women in class and not compare yourself to them in every way. Why don’t her arms have cellulite? Also, how are the other women able to lift both legs and clench their stomachs without farting? This was a legitimate question and constant fear of mine during the stomach strengthening segments. Every. Single. Time. the instructor would come over to me as I struggled to simultaneously “tuck” my stomach and lift my legs off the ground. I’m sorry, but that is exactly the position I get in when I need to release gas. I’m doing us both a favor by not getting the technique right.

2. “Tuck and Lift” is just a euphemism for “Clench and Thrust.”

This was an important lesson for me because I was under the impression that these barre classes were a classy and elegant workout for classy and elegant women. Not true. The worst part of the “tuck and lift” technique is that because of its subtleness, in order to really understand how to do an exercise, you have to laser focus your attention on the pelvis and glutes of the instructor and your fellow Barridians. For me at least, any pretense of being sophisticated was destroyed when I tried to mimic the thrusting motion of a woman with a little red ball smooshed high between her thighs. Indeed, as in real life, class and elegance don’t really exist. Instead, it’s all about clenching and thrusting your way through awkward situations that you’re only in because of questionable life choices.

3. There is nothing funnier than watching myself trying to lift and straighten my leg.

I learn this lesson every time I take a yoga class, but at least in yoga I’m not surrounded by mirrors to remind me of how ridiculous I look while trying to elongate my leg while standing upright. The effect is compounded by the infinitude of women who have absolutely no problem with lifting their legs. I know this because I carefully watch every single woman lift and lengthen her legs without any problems, while I’m half-bent over, grasping my calf, trying to force my leg straight. And just when I think I’ve got it, the shaking starts. Not just a little quiver of the thigh, but full-blown body trembles. The kind of trembling that happens when you have to hover over a dirty toilet seat for too long. I’m talking violent, spasmodic movements that are utterly unreasonable for someone just trying to keep her balance while standing at a ballet bar.  I can only imagine the thoughts of the unfortunate woman standing behind me who has to witness my attempts at standing upright. Because let’s be honest, she’s reveling in some major schadenfreude, just as I would if the tables were turned.    

4. I’m not as fit as I think I am. And everyone else is better than me.

This is a lesson I learn more often than I thought possible. Sometimes I think that just because I’m petite, go to the gym, and only eat bacon and M&M’s semi-regularly that I’m in good shape. This is not true. My body regularly rebels against any major physical exertion in remarkable wayslike stress fractures and torn labrumsthat are totally disproportionate to my workouts. Don’t let the feminine nature fool you into thinking that these barre classes are for weak and fragile womenthis shit is hard.  There is nothing more humbling than not being able to tilt your pelvis forward and flex your foot towards the wall 4 inches behind you. I’ve run marathons (well, I’ve run a marathon). I use the Smith machine at the gym. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to stand straight, touch the wall with my foot, and clench my glutes at the same time.  The instructor, however, is doing one-armed pushups while being at least 6 months pregnant.

5. I’m always about a half-beat behind the rest of the class.

A metaphor for my life, really. Everyone is on their third clench and thrust, and I’m still trying to keep the little red ball from falling out from between my thighs. By the time I’ve figured out how to tuck and lift my leg while standing on the balls of my feet with tension tubes around my ankles, the rest of the class has moved on. I’m like Aunt Viv at her first dance class trying desperately to regain her youth, only to be slapped in the face with pony tails before being knocked on her ass. 

…Of course, Aunt Viv came back to that dance class and slayed. I, on the other hand, will be taking my shaky legs back to the good ol’ regular gym, where for the bargain price of $37 a month, I can do my clenching and thrusting on my trusty Smith machine, surrounded by judgmental men.

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About the Author

Julie Walthers is an English teacher by day and copyeditor by night (and by weekend and by summer vacation). When not trying to explain homonyms and thesis statements to high school students, she can be found attempting to maintain her Top 3 position on the Fitbit leader board, or on the couch watching Netflix and questioning her life choices. Follow Julie at Ghost Editorial, and on Facebook and Instagram