An Introduction to Pure Barre and Futility of Fitness Rage

An Introduction to Pure Barre and Futility of Fitness Rage

Breaking up is hard to do. Two years after I fell in love with At One Yoga, the location near my condo closed, and I found myself paying close to $200 a month to only go one or two times per month. All without the benefit of a private class. A hard decision had to be made.

 In anticipation of the breakup I scooped up new member deals on studios around Central Phoenix. I intended to “date” other studios in effort to find one I love as much as I loved At One. With curiosity, I picked up a two week membership to Pure Barre, a Bar Method-type workout studio that I had been curious about checking out for a while now.


The class was only one hour long. But! I’m pretty confident I lost my right muffin top in just the one session, but at a cost, mind you. This workout is consistent isometric exercises for an hour. An hour that can break me.

That red ball!

You see, there was this little, red ball.

We were instructed to hold it in between our upper thighs for most of the workout, which meant I was always squeezing. And tucking my hips, and lifting my knees or my feet, or crunching, or planking, or, or, or…. I grimaced. I sweated.

I shook and twitched and spasmed throughout the entire workout.

And the way-too-adorable-instructor, Melanie, kept telling me that was a good thing! And kept telling me that I was doing great, which was horrible, because the more that little thing praised me, the more I wanted to do to get more praise and kudos, ugh!

Delightful, tiny, instrument of squishy torture. Pure Barre, Pure Fitness Rage.

I was squeezing, and tucking, and lifting, and crunching, and planking.

And between all the squeezing, and tucking, and lifting, and crunching, and PULSING, and planking, I wanted to grab the little, red, ball from between my inner thighs and throw it at her cute, younger-than-me-maybe 26(?)-year-old-face to make her stop talking and telling me to squeeze, or tuck, or lift, or crunch, or PULSE, or plank.

But, not only were my legs quivering but my arms, too, because those were the first victims of the lifting and pulsing workout. My arms were so jello-y that I probably would have missed with my aim. And, I also decided that I was just too tired to resist, that resistance was actually futile. I squoze, and tucked, and lifted, and crunched, and planked… and remembered that I not only signed myself up for this, I paid for it.

I know now how the Nazis occupied Europe and the Romans ruled such a vast empire. They had the red ball and a ballet bar and just exhausted everyone into submission. Heck, it worked for me.

I was sucker punched.
I had NO IDEA what the hell I was signing up for, and I actually called sweet, cute, fellow Lululemon-loving Melanie-my-instructor a She Devil last night.
To her face.
And then she asked me, way perky-like, if I would be back.
And I said, absa-freaking-lutely. Besides, I need to whittle off my left muffin top, now, to balance my skinnier, right, side.

That blasted ball is a torture device!!! When I regain any sensation in my arms, I’ll return to the studio for more, and more, and more, and more. Mooooooooooore!!!!

Oh my goodness, can you even?!

XO, Jennifer

fitness rage my own true north


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1 Comment

  1. Anonymous
    October 5, 2011 / 4:10 pm

    Jenni, I laughed sooo much reading this!!! love you!!

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