Barre 3

Today I did a very scary thing. Today I went to a group exercise class with another person. Not just another person but a really cool lady that I have a super big friend crush on who I want to think I'm great and not awkward and foolish, which is what group exercise classes make me feel. Today I went to Barre 3.
Barre 3 is a Portland exercise studio chain that offers classes that are a mix of yoga, ballet, and pilates. The classes are STUPID expensive. As in, $40 for a class. This particular friend has been pestering me for months to go with her to Barre 3 and I always said, "Sorry - Can't afford it." (Which is, by the way, TRUE). But last month she sent a livingsocial deal for Barre 3 where you could get a four class pass for $40 - and then she sent me a promo code to get another $10 off. So I would essentially paying $8 for a $40 experience and I think all of you reading this know how I feel about retail victories. So here are are: victory achieved and I am now attending some incredibly ritzy exercise class for the next three weeks.
I felt a lot of feelings as I went into the class today but a major one was curiosity. "What are we paying for here? Is this exercise blend so awesome that you'll pay that much to be instructed? Do you leave feeling euphoric? Will I walk out immediately a pant size smaller?" The answer actually kind of broke my heart. No - it was not life changing. I did not fly out of the studio on feet made of clouds, I am not now a super model. I suspect that the reason all of these women pay $40 a class is for the simple fact that the room was all women. And not just women, but white, healthy women of a certain economic standing. There were no men to look at us as we stretched our butts in the air, there was no obese women breathing loudly in the corner, I was the only one there in leggings and a shirt as opposed to Lulu Lemon exercise gear. The instructor used anatomical words like, "your seat" and "your belly" to talk about our bodies. Both the instructor and the lady at the front desk made a point of checking in with me after class and calling me by my first name. "You did great today, Olivia" and "Have a good day, Olivia!"
I swim at my local community center 1 - 3 times a week and have since April. No one there has ever said my name. There are people swimming at all different speeds and with different ability and sometimes the cement floor locker rooms smell like pee because someone has, well, peed. There are some skeezy guys and some very overweight patrons. One of the swimmers I see every week has only one hand. I sometimes share a lane with a man that has waist length dreadlocks. It costs me $30 a month to use the pool whenever I want for as long as I want.
I guess what I'm trying to get to is this: there is always a thrill to get a glimpse of life on the other side of the economic barrier. Always. I mean, fuck - the bathrooms had little rolled up terry-cloth towels for you to wipe your face with. There were tampons in a neat cup in case you forgot yours and makeup removing pads and Q tips. The floors were smooth wood and I didn't think twice about going barefoot because it was cleaner than my house is. It was like going to a salon to work out and the redhead on the mat next to me was wearing a wedding band littered with diamonds on one hand and a rock the size of my pinkie nail on the other. I saw the draw - of course I saw the draw- of doing something that makes you vulnerable (moving your body) in a space that feels safe (homogenized). But I can also say that once this coupon is used up, I am not coming back. I will bet that there are yoga or pilates classes offered at my community center and I bet the music awkward and the room smells awful and frankly, that will suit me just fine. Because I may be white and I may be semi-normal-bodied as of right now and I may not be destitute but I am definitely not of their breed.