By Sadie Chanlett-Avery
While teaching yoga, training fitness clients and finishing my master’s degree, the last thing I wanted to think about was my own workouts. Although I always complemented yoga with weight training and cardiovascular exercise, my gym time dwindled under the demands of my thesis. I needed a scheduled class, someone else to lead me and a full-body workout. So I found the Bar Method — an exercise class in a barre studio that’s all about “targeted body sculpting” (other popular spots like this include Pure Barre and the Dailey Method) — in my neighborhood and signed up. The studio became my personal study of fitness and female body image.
From the beginning, I felt a bit out of place. Glancing at the hands along the barre, I reminded myself that I wasn’t wearing a stack of diamond rings. Only a few of us wore size 10 or larger Lululemons. We started class by grabbing little, pink two-pound dumbbells. Ambitious types chose the three-pounders. Propelled by Katy Perry tunes and a peppy instructor, each class followed a similar formula. Staring at ourselves in the mirror, we endured minute contractions of our abs, our hips and our thighs — what women’s fitness magazines call our “target trouble zones.”
From the beginning, I felt a bit out of place. Glancing at the hands along the barre, I reminded myself that I wasn’t wearing a stack of diamond rings. Only a few of us wore size 10 or larger Lululemons.
Mirrors lined the walls so we could watch ourselves (and in my case, compare myself to the size-two twentysomething next to me). During my years of teaching in gyms, I have always found mirrors to be distracting. Whether in a dressing room or an exercise class, women often use mirrors to hone in on their “trouble zones.” As a trainer, I’ve had to refocus female clients away from mirrors (and their litany of self-criticism) just to finish a workout. Even if we could see ourselves objectively, we would see only a flat image. Always relying on mirrors actually detracts from our awareness of how we move.
Isolating muscle groups for “toning” perpetuates the debunked idea of spot reduction. We don’t lose fat at the location of repeated muscle contraction. For example, exercises like abdominal crunches don’t reshape the adipose (fat) tissue around the belly. After several sets of tricep extensions or leg lifts, we stretched for a few seconds, supposedly to “elongate” muscles. This is another activity that isn’t supported by current exercise science — muscles have fixed origins and insertions, so their lengths don’t change.
While personal trainers debate the popular term “functional fitness,” the women in these types of classes cling to the barre, crouch halfway down, lean back and do pelvic tilts until their thighs burn with exhaustion. I’m not sure about the functional application of this move, but to push through the final set of thigh squeezes, the instructor reminded us that this series would make our legs looks hot in six-inch heels. These “workouts” are designed to make us pursue an image of perfection. Strength and aerobic conditioning are possible but are not prioritized side effects.
Trying to restrict myself into a smaller, more perfect shape left me feeling coiled. After a handful of classes, I called a massage therapist to relieve my tweaking shoulders, neck and hips. After a few months, I quit the barre classes, even though there were a few classes left in my series. With the relief of graduation, I wanted more cardiovascular challenges, needed more variety and was tired of being reminded about my “trouble zones.”
These “workouts” are designed to make us pursue an image of perfection. Strength and aerobic conditioning are possible but are not prioritized side effects.
I returned to the gym and began to study strength, mostly with kettlebells. I pursued a traditional style of Russian training with priorities that were completely different from “toning.” Instead of chasing the “long and lean” look promoted in posh studios, I started sweating, grunting and heaving iron cannonballs in the corner of an industrial CrossFit gym. After the small contractions at the barre, the explosive swings and deep squats felt liberating.
To swing 50 pounds of iron, I learned to coordinate my muscle groups along kinetic chains. To create momentum, I practiced extreme tension and immediate relaxation. I integrated my breathing, endurance and coordination, and I trained my cardiovascular, respiratory and nervous systems. When I braced my abs and moved from my hips, those “trouble zones” became power centers! I realized that exercising the body in fragments warps not only our self-image but also our athleticism.
When I gave up the pink weights, I became very strong, very fast. Within eight months, I passed a rigorous kettlebell-instructor certification. The final test required me to swing a 35-pound kettlebell overhead 100 times in less than five minutes. Now six years into kettlebell training, I easily carry my groceries, bike up hills and toss my luggage into overhead bins on planes. As a side effect, my hourglass figure became more pronounced. My training relieves my pain and increases my stamina, and has changed how I see myself in mirrors.
I’m often asked this perennial question about barre classes: “Did you get results?” I didn’t — my curvy body never conformed to the “long and lean” look. Does it work for other women? Perhaps. It depends on how we define success. With a certain genetic disposition, exercise and dieting, we may fit into a thin version of perfection. Yet a workout designed to “sculpt” everyone into a singular body type will inevitably leave many students feeling like failures.
A workout designed to “sculpt” everyone into a singular body type will inevitably leave many students feeling like failures.
Instead of flexing around my insecurities, I’d rather blaze into new physical abilities. Kettlebells aren’t the only way — you can also shake your booty in a Zumba class, climb up a rock wall or practice Muay Thai. I needed leadership and camaraderie when I started the barre class but realized that the studio shaped my self-perception more than my thighs. Exercising to “correct” a collection of “trouble zones” and chasing an elusive idea of perfection only left me with aches and anxieties. I’d rather learn and teach how to become more cohesive, whole and powerful. There’s beauty in strength — no sculpting required.
Note: Anyone interested in kettlebell training should seek out a certified instructor.
