ginger husband goes to bar method

This weekend I finally dragged Jon to a Bar Method class. I've been waiting for this moment ever since he weaseled his way out of the last date night class a little over a year ago. If you're unfamiliar with barre exercise classes, I'd describe it as pilates on crack with a little bit of yoga & ballet thrown in. It looks relatively easy, but it's sneaky hard.

Date nights are basically an excuse for barre regulars (the classes are predominately female) to force their significant others to take class against their will. It wasn't pretty. It was, by far, the funniest, sweatiest, and loudest class I've ever taken. Apparently men are incapable of suffering in silence.

I was afraid beforehand that Jon would think it was all a piece of cake, and that my whining about how hard class was or how sore I was would fall on deaf ears. Yeah, that didn't happen.

He didn't talk for a while after class, and then he said something like: "I'm exhausted. I don't know how you make it through the second half." Me either, but somehow I do 3-4 times every week.

Unfortunately, there is no photographic evidence that Jon was there. Pulling out the camera would have been the last straw for him.

I have to give Jon credit - he was a pretty good sport about the whole thing. Not great, but pretty good. And I have to give myself a little credit too. I've been a Bar Method devotee for 1.5 years, but I don't think I've ever really celebrated that accomplishment. Sometimes when you're in the weeds of it, you don't see how far you've come. But there's nothing like bringing your husband with you, and totally kicking his butt, to make you feel pretty darn proud of yourself.

On that note, I'm planning on sharing a little more about the Bar Method & why I love it later this week. Stay tuned!