The Nerdy Girl’s Guide to the Barre Method

I’ve been hearing a lot about Pure Barre, a ballet based fitness chain that’s popular in Athens. One of the instructors also goes to Aerofit and offered me a class on their Free Friend Friday. I was curious about what this was (and she assured me I didn’t have to be a dancer to take the class), so I tried it.

In my town, it’s in a little studio in a busy shopping center (near the Moe’s I go to and the pet store where I get dog and cat food.) You walk upstairs and there’s gorgeous studio and storefront ($90 workout pants.)

There’s a room with cubbies for your stuff, and for you to take what you need to workout: weights, a red mat, a red tube.

I then walk into a silent dance studio—full of toned women in Pure Barre socks. Thankfully, I have a friend in the class and we were chatting before class began.

The instructor is at the front of the class—on a headset. (There were 20+ people in the class). And she guides you through the workout—but after the first demo she walks around the room correcting body position—move your feet out, hands in, bend your knees, on your toes etc. She calls out kudos to those doing a good job. And it’s all encouraging, and nonstop. There is no break. There’s not even time to complain to the person next to you!

For some of the exercises I wasn’t sure what to do and because the instructor was walking around, I was trying to figure out who looked like they new what they were doing and copying them. I’d probably get the hang of this with more experience. Hopefully I wasn’t flailing too gracelessly and didn’t look TOO stupid.

The class is set up in rows—kind of a choose-your-own space situation. Part of the class is in these rows. Arm stuff with the little weights, Jane Fonda-esque leg lifts, crunches on the little red bar (killed me!). And tucking. That’s the signature move. It’s tucking your hips underneath you, bringing your tailbone down and out. Maybe the tiniest bit like an athletic baby twerk. (Your booty goes a little back when you contract).

The other part of the class is on the bar. It’s not really ballet though. It’s holding on to the bar and doing leg work—on your toes, holding one leg out, doing circles. And this part really makes your thighs burn.

And everything is in a 10-count. I kept dropping my form after 8, being relieved to be done, only for the instructor to still be counting. Oops. I’m not even a dancer and I’m used to an 8-count.

I survive the first class, fumbling through most of the motions. My thighs and abs were burning. (The crunches on the red ball really got me.) My legs hurt walking down the stairs on the way out. If I went to more classes, I’m sure I’d know what I was doing soon enough. I thought it was a good workout (but wasn’t too tired to go tumble at Aerofit for an hour afterwards).

Quick guide to Pure Barre

Verdict: I'd sum up the Pure Barre experience in one word—intense. It also worked everything I want to tone: core and thighs. Exactly what I need. And no need to be a former ballerina. I thought there was only the finest bit of dance/ ballet in the workout.

Atmosphere: For those serious about working out. This isn’t a giggle with your friends class. There isn’t even time for talking. It’s non-stop. When the workout gets too intense and you’re ready to quit, the instructor calls out stretching, so it’s active rest—with no real breaks.

Intensity: Super intense. Like Aerobics on caffeine pills and Red Bull. One of the most intense classes I’ve been in.

Price: $20 for one class. A monthly membership is $200.

What to wear: Leggings or capris, a yoga-looking top and socks. The website urges against wearing shorts. They want your leg muscles to stay warm.

Would I go again: Yes. I thought it was a great workout. I’d love it if I could afford to do this once a week or once a month and I’ve heard you get more benefit if you go everyday, but at their prices I can’t afford more than once a month.

Gymnastics at the age of 31

I took my first gymnastics class at the tender age of 31.

I've wanted to be a gymnast since the first time I saw gymnastics on TV. Shannon Miller, Dominic Dawes, Dominic Moceanue. I grew up wanting to be just like them. To flip. To fly through the air.

And since I saw gymnastics on TV, I've been asking my parents to take gymnastics. I begged then. I'm flexible. I can put my feet on my head, do a split! I'd be so good at that, I insisted. My father said there was no place near our house to take gymnastics. I told him my friend was ranked first in the state on floor and she took gymnastics in the next city. Then he said gymnastics was too expensive.

And it was. And I'm sure my parents didn't want to schlep me 45-minutes one way to take gymnastics, pay for leotards. And then have my siblings all want to try different sports.

So I took measures in my own hands. And tried to learn handsprings on my own. In my hard, rocky yard.

My best attempt was a round-off with a twist. I didn't know what I was doing. This was before the days of YouTube. Had I had Youtube I probably would have broken my neck, arm or both.

For years, I tried to flip. I landed in the springs of the trampoline we finally got. My sister could flip. I still couldn't. I watched in high school as the cheerleaders learned to flip. I still couldn't. And for a while, with college and silly distractions like a career and pets, I forgot.

When I turned 30 I caught the workout bug. I started going to the trampoline gym every day. I watched everyone else flip and remembered how much I wanted to flip. I should be able to do that, I thought. Only, I tried for months and months. I could rotate—and then land on my back. I put my hands down. I couldn't get my feet over my head. I watched new people get a flip in two visits. After much frustration, I decided to try a real gymnastics gym. One with mats and trampolines and pads and pads and pads.

My husband thought it was the worst idea ever. Gymnastics at the public rec center. Of course I went.

The class was $10. I figured I could try and see if I liked it. What's the worst that could happen? (A: A group of cliquish high school cheerleaders smacking bubblegum and all doing back tucks perfectly.)

But actually, the class that night was six women—all around my age, of varying abilities: A yoga instructor with amazing arms. She was working on her front tuck (and nailing it.) An aerialist who was working on her back tuck with two spotters. There was a science researcher working on her back walkover.

But before all of that, there was the warmup. Laps around the mat. (I could do this!) There were handstands (I only crashed to my back once) and forward rolls and backwards rolls (and a mat because I couldn't do them.) Then, there was another mat when I couldn't do a bad-hand cartwheel. (I can do an awesome one-handed cartwheel.)

Mostly, I kept up with the class. I didn't crash and burn. I did almost miss the mat on a front tuck attempt. I over rotated and went flying around the room a little. And yes, everyone saw it. I should have done a big gymnastics smile with my arms to the sky. But alas. I didn't. My worst critique was "that's how you break arms."  Apparently I tuck my arms under me fetal style when tucking when my arms should go to the side.

I tried a handstand fall and ended up doing a front layout (landing on my back on some pads). The point was landing on my hands, so of course I just rotated around and never touched. That pretty much summed up my night. I wasn't clearly the worst. I was in the thick of it. Mostly, I wasn't that weird uncoordinated new kid. Someone even called my flexible. (And then a few minutes later the instructor told me to work on my shoulder flexibility as my shoulders aren't over my hands in my bridge.) But maybe they'll think of me as the new girl—who could climb the rope and do a front layout on her first visit. (They don't need to know I was working on my tuck.)

All in all I survived. I don't even think I have any new bruises.

I would have liked to flip but it was fun to play on the equipment. I'll probably go back, but I'm already worried about my arms.

Climbing in Atlanta: Stone Summit

This photo was taken from the second floor balcony,
 so those climbers behind us are super high up.

My friends rave about Stone Summit, a giant climbing gym in Atlanta. We brought a groupon and visited one Sunday.

You check in at the desk—they give you shoes and then you have to pass a belay test before you can climb anything.

So we bouldered for a while first. They have two big bouldering walls. Fun-ish. With enough easy paths for beginners. The experienced climbers were bouldering, resting, repeating, then going to climb.

But back to the belay test. You're on your own. There's no person to teach you. Unless you sign up for their hour-long class. You have to look at a chart on the wall or ask someone to show you. AND they don't use auto-belays. You actually have to thread your own rope. I looked at the wall chart and knew there was no way in the world I'd pass it. BUT I couldn't even climb on their auto-climb walls upstairs without passing the test. That royally pissed me off.

And then if you did want to take the test, you had to ring a bell and wait 20+ minutes for a staffer to come certify you.

This place is a huge gym, with lots of room to climb. There's even exercise equipment upstairs. But the belay-certication left a horrible taste in my mouth. This place isn't friendly to beginners at all. It's great if you're a climbing enthusiast and know exactly what you're doing.

Verdict: Not a fan of their belay test. If they make climbing more accessible, I'd look forward to going back.

Atmosphere: Casual. Not too judgey. It's lots of fun to watch the really good climbers.

Hazards: Dry, chapped hands and I always get bruises on my legs afterwards.

Intensity: Moderate. I can boulder for 60-90 minutes (with lots of breaks in between)

Price: $18 Groupon for two people. Pretty good.

What to wear: Capri's, a workout shirt. You will get sweaty. Bring socks.

Would I go back? There are other places to climb. I might go back, but I'm in no hurry.

All about kayaking

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been kayaking before. I’ve been canoeing and rafting—but not since I was a teenager. But today I tried kayaking with a group of friends—and for May in Georgia the water was unseasonably cold. My lips were blue when we were done. All I wanted was soup.

For this trip I drove up to a little North Georgia town and drove down a lot of dirt roads until I finally came to the kayaking post. (The drive itself was an adventure.) You sign in, give them your keys (so you don’t lose them on the river), pick out a life jacket and wait for them to call your group. Then, they drive your group on an old mini school bus (it’s doors didn’t fully close) to the top of the river. (I especially liked the guy in front of us trying to smoke on the bus.)

You get off the bus, pick a kayak and a paddle and the push you out on the river.

At this particular place, there was no safety video and no instruction video of any kind. And I had NO IDEA how to kayak.

And immediately, there are rapids in the river. I have no idea what I’m doing. I attempt to paddle through the rapids like everyone else. I keep my core tight, arms strong and PRAY not to flip. I make it through the first two sets (it’s just staying upright). But the water sprays me and the water is freezing.

Of course I'm the dorkiest looking one in a dry-fit shirt, hat and glasses.

It’s cold so I decided the most practical outfit was dri-fit shorts and a long-sleeve T. The shirt, despite being light weight and dri-fit, was immediately soaked through and more annoying than helpful.

So I freeze for the rest of the canoe ride. And after the first two rapids, the river calms down. Without even paddling the kayak just drifts along, which would be great except I’m way ahead of the group I’m with and I keep paddling back. I try using the paddle as a brake, but it’s no good. I can’t figure out how to go slow.

One of the girls in our group flips her kayak. Another almost loses her kayak, banked against a river rock when we stopped to take a break. The guy in our group has a busted kayak that’s taking on water and not draining.

Finally, we all get so cold we decide to race back to the outpost. And I feel almost warm. And we’re moving at the speed I want to go.

We put up the kayaks and are done—apparently in record time. (I thought the trip time could easily be halved, but apparently I don’t understand the concept of floating lazily down the river with a beer).

The outpost has warm showers (hallelujah!) and we decide to drive home and get food. (It took me an hour after getting out of the water to feel my toes.)

So I survived kayaking.

Quick guide to kayaking

Verdict: I was expecting it to be so slow paced or cold. It sounded more adventurous than it was and I felt like I got zero workout.

Atmosphere: Casual (possibly too casual)

Intensity: Small bursts, but mostly not intense.

Price: Okay. $25 per person. I had a deal for $12.

What to wear: I haven’t figured this one out myself. A bathing suit, sun block, water shoes or sandals. I wore a hat (that wasn’t necessary) and had my sunglasses on croakies.

Would I do it again? Maybe. On a hot day with a group of people who want to race to the finish.

If you go: Bring a cooler for snacks and drinks along the river. Keep a towel and dry clothes in your car for afterwards. And check the weather forecast. Hope you have fun!