So, the other day I was feeling sort of disoriented and disconnected, in our quiet and lovely little neighborhood, here in this new town. As much as I love our house, and the peace and quiet, and the feng shui of being up at the top of a hill (a close second to being adjacent to a body of water), it’s decidedly strange to be living in a suburb after having lived in much more urban-ish places for the past fifteen-plus years. Not like we’re that much farther from Boston. But there’s definitely a different flavor to it.
Anyway, this town does have a bustling little Main Street (a little spookily healthy, actually; like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting), and there’s a new-ish Yoga and Barre studio I decided to check out. Barre is like a combo of pilates and yoga with a dash of ballet, and I’d never tried it before. It’s a pretty ass-kicking workout. And I mean that not in the sense of “this workout kicks ass!” but in the sense of: I got my ass kicked by this workout.
I mean, I could do it, and I’m in pretty good shape at this point in my life, having ramped up my fitness routine in the past couple of years (go figure). But it was hard. Good hard, though. I was “enjoying” it. I felt very present and focused, because when you’re trying with all your might to keep pulsing your leg up at a ninety degree angle behind you while holding onto the barre, and you feel like your ass about to fall off your body, you don’t have a choice.
Late in the class, after a grueling set of ab exercises,we flipped over onto our stomachs and did some lower back counter-stretches. A cobra pose, and then “swimming,” which, if you haven’t done pilates, is lifting your legs and arms off the ground at the same and paddling both as if you’re swimming. And as I was doing these lower back exercises, the weirdest thing happened: