Over the past couple months I’ve become addicted to an exercise class called The Bar Method. Before I start detailing the hell on earth that I pay to endure let me start with the positives.

* By far the NICEST human beings on the planet. Crazy nice. The two owners, every teacher, adorable “boys” who check in and take care of everything. ADORABLY NICE. It makes me feel horrible that I’m so unskilled at what they are attempting to teach me.

* Damn it if you don’t see results. Torture = results. Honestly if I didn’t see changes in my body (like the joy I get when I have to say, “sorry just a sec my pants are falling down”) I’d never go back.

* Pasadena location = super duper nice.

Okay now the cold hard facts. I consider myself fit. Run 5K’s often. Work out (really work out not wussy work outs) 5 days a week minimum. Hike on the weekends. Not pathetic “walks” at an incline. Take a look at the window. See that hill … nah mountain? That. I climb that. I, wrongly, thought that the “girly” work out known as The Bar Method would be nothin’. Even with my complete lack of flexibility I’d still come out as the shinning star student. Right.


It’s hard. And I don’t mean “hard”. I mean F*ing hard. F* F*ing hard.

From start to finish there isn’t a part I’m not concentrating so hard I’m sweating. Each movement is so tiny and yet so horrifically painful. I appreciate the constant “cheering” from the teacher but in my head I often reply “F* off”.

“Wendy good shaking.”

“Wendy don’t give up.”
“F* off.”

“Wendy leg higher. I know you can do it.”
“F* off.”

“Don’t give up on the ‘hold’ … and hold … and hold … and hold …”
“F* off … and F*off … and F* off.”

You get the point. AND THE SHAKING. If you aren’t shaking you aren’t working. Here’s a test for you. Stand up with something (like a desk or chair) to hold balance with. Feet hip distance part. Go up on your toes. Higher. Higher. As my favorite instructor Maxx (2 the Maxx) would say, “the highest heels ever.” Tuck your seats (aka tighten your butt in), bring your abs in (aka suck in your stomach). Comfy? Good. Now come down as far as you can (bend your knees) keeping that position with your flat back as Max would say, “like you are sliding down a wall.” Comfy? Good. Now go down 2 inches lower. Now just go down a little and up a little with very controlled small movements. Comfy? Good. Now do that about 1 million more times. If you aren’t shaking by the 3rd time then you are cheating. Go higher on those heels and lower to the ground.

That doesn’t even touch things like push ups and non-stop curls and something that makes me shake just thinking about it called “the pretzel” …

Remember when I said I’m fit. Throw that right out the window. I look like giant uncoordinated hippo when up next to the svelte ballerinas. I have to control myself from blurting out in the middle of class, “Oh yah Gumby? Well I can beat you in a 3.1 mile race so … ha!”

As they say no pain no gain. And the non-flexible Wendy can now officially touch her toes. So I’m going to keep going and keep struggling to keep that internal F* you from coming out my mouth!