I used to be a barre junkie.
Four years ago, you could find me in a 6a class multiple days per week. I’d be front and center, at the barre, mirror adjacent, next to the teacher.
Then we moved and although I test-drove different studios, I didn’t find my right fit and other activities took precedence.
Last year, when we moved to San Diego, I vowed to find a new barre studio (there are so many from which to choose).
This week, it happened.
I was the second participant in class, front and slightly center yet still next to the instructor and mirror-adjacent. Some things never change.
Yet many things did change.
Me. My ability. My endurance. My flexibility. The class. The instructor. The routines.
It’s starting over, again. Sorta. While much was familiar, more wasn’t. And that is OK.
Finally, I was doing something I’d longed and loved to do and (spoiler alert) still love doing.
My cueing was off and I’d forgotten the lingo and was completely out of sync.
Several times I smiled and laughed to myself. It didn’t matter though, that’s exactly why I was there. To do the class.
If you’re familiar with barre, you know many movements are done in the tiniest increments. We often move one inch at a time. Up an inch. Down an inch.
I’d forgotten how much impact one inch can have. My glutes, on the other hand, did not forget.
Stacey (+ Sarah)