The alarm goes off. It’s Saturday at 7am. I ask myself why the hell are you getting up this early on a Saturday? Before I can even fully open my eyes it hits me, all of this is for Barre class for your sister’s birthday. Barre class I say to myself. Why the hell am I up a 7am for something called Barre? Which in my experience is spelled with 3 letters not 5 and is meant only for the female population.
So I climb out of bed, unhappy and annoyed that my sister is for lack of better words ruining my weekend life for a glorified ballet class. I put on my clothes, pour my coffee and head out the door ready to conquer the Barre (or Bar for you normal spelling Americans) having no idea what I just got myself into.
My girlfriend and I pull into the back parking lot to what looks like an abandoned building scratching our heads in amazement in how this place was even found. After a solid 5-minute search for the right abandoned doorway we find an elevator. Having zero clue where we are and no contact to the inside world (no cell phones in Barre class) we decided to take a shot and jump in.
Much like a movie with a trap door or closet to a foreign land, the elevator stops on the 3rd floor and opens to a floor in which you never thought existed. A receptionist greets you, asked for your name and looks you up and down asking herself what this hairy, bearded creature is doing at the Barre (without alcohol of course). At that moment I should have known, run Andrew, run as far as you can.
The classroom is a perfect rectangle with mirrors and a ballet bar surrounding the entire room. There is anywhere from 15-25 people in the class with 1 really amped up instructor. Each person is given a matte, 2 different sized weighted balls and a workout ring. You are required to wear socks that have grip on the bottom so you don’t slide all over while performing your moves.
The scene is set, 5 guys, 15 experience Barre women and 1 amped up instructor ready to dominate the glutes of each individual male who walked through the door. The class starts off with what is considered a warm up in the Barre world, the beginning of the end for every muscle on my body located below my waist band.
Much like every guy challenged to a workout competition by their older sister, I started out on fire. Moving my body up and down, side to side, pulsing on the toes, level 1, level 10, it didn’t matter I was determined to dominate ever human within a 10-mile radius of this Barre. 5 minutes goes by, okay the legs are feeling good. 7 minutes, okay Rocky is neck and neck with me, Kris is sweating gallons and Rich and Sean are holding their own, I GOT THIS BABY! 10 minutes and I’m feeling good. F this barre! I can do this shit in my sleep…………………That was of course until we did the last 50 minutes of the class.
By minute 20 I don’t think I could remember my name (much like a regular B-A-R). My legs were shaking so much you would have thought there was an earthquake where I was standing. Every time I heard, pulse, pulse, come on just 1 more time, I thought about opening the 3rd story abandoned window and launching myself to the bottom. Anything was better than another pulse, another hip thrust or another stability hold.
By minutes 35-40 it was all downhill. Sweating like I just jumped out of the pool. Trying everything mentally to get through the pain saying in my head, “Come on Andrew your pregnant sister is doing better than you” “Don’t fail….there is a 45 year old women making you look like you’ve never touched a dumbbell.”
It was nearly impossible. With every movement, every change, the pain worse and worse. The entire time watching in amazement of all 15 women in there doing movements without a groan or what look like a single ounce of sweat. How are they doing that? Are they hurting like I am? Is Kris going to make it? All questions that I didn’t have the answer too or had a second to think about
FINALLY, minute 55. We are almost there. Only core left. Yes I say to myself just get through the core and then we are done. Regaining some energy, my brother and I decided to end it on the highest level. Jumping jack pushups with a hold. Thinking we could dominate those we bang set 1. Okay, good shit we are back baby ready to finish. And then we did number 2. “Terrible idea!” I say to myself, “What the F was I thinking?” “F’ck Rocky is doing them too so now I really cant stop”
1 minute left the instructor says, FINALLY a light at the end of the tunnel. 30 seconds, lets gooooooooo, 15, I’m going to need a real bar after this, just gotta finish 10, 9,8, come on baby you got this. 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, you got 1 more just finish, 2, 1 And at that moment summed up the feelings of every male in that room then when the clock struck 0 and the class finished. Everyone dropped, laying in their own pool of sweat when my Rocky screamed out, “IS IT OVER??”
After a well-deserved and warranted laugh from every female in the room, yes Rock the torture is over. You can go home now and attempt to walk normally, sit on the toilet comfortably or even begin to think about walking up and down a set of stairs.
I bench over 200 pounds, go to the gym 5 days a week and have been obsessed with working out for 8 straight years and never once did I think one of the hardest workouts of my life would be barre class.
Girls, 1 Boys, 0
