BURN
You have to say it like that: BURN, as though it were in all caps, even though its official logo has it in lowercase (it’s trendy and female like that). Yes. So BURN is the group exercise class I’ve been attending for a month or so. I always want to append adjectives to the phrase “group exercise class”, because it is an exercise class that is called BURN and markets itself as “dynamic group fitness” and that was started by a LuLu Lemon (“lulu lemon”? “Lululemon” apparently) “ambassador.” Yes, all these things bring adjectives like “silly” or “goofy” to mind. But it’s not actually a silly or goofy class at all. It’s really not anything to sneeze at. It’s actually been sort of kicking my ass.
Naturally I did not seek BURN out on my own although I was extremely curious about it for a while before my erstwhile roommate Zoe went to a class and reported back with high praise. At that point, I bought the exorbitantly (but not that much, really, when you understand how it compares to the regular price) priced intro package: 30 days unlimited for $100. At a regular single-class rate of $19 a pop, this is a gosh darn bargain. Not to mention, their brand-new spring (“get fit for bathing suit weather!”) flat monthly rate is $199 for unlimited classes for a month (!!).
But here’s the thing. I will not lie. I kind of think it’s worth it (not the $200 pass, but the rest of it, in principle). This is a class where two times out of three I emerge with a fully soaked — with sweat — ponytail and t-shirt. (An appealing image, I know). One of the teachers, who has been christened “mean mommy” by Zoe, actually induces literal dripping of sweat; the absurd series of lunges, football runs, squats, mountain climbers and burpees (and don’t forget the jumping jacks and the running-away-from-the-pilates-spring-walls-like-hamsters-routine) has that effect on you. As further evidence: in the past two weeks I have only gone once and I feel my body returning to its previous, lumpier, lazier state. That, my friends, is what I call exercise I feel motivated to stick with, dollars be damned.
Plus, Lisa, the founder of this whole fad, told me two weeks ago when I was in her class that she could tell that “my body was changing” as a result of my continued participation and that “my posture was better.” This made me feel extra good about buying my new 20-class pass for $300 the next day, even though I know that it’s in her interest as a businesswoman to tell me so. But also, there is this older man in the classes — you know the kind, the girls in the class don’t want to take a mat next to, the one with a hobbit-like (but on a larger scale) beer gut and short shorts — that has placed himself under her wing and is bringing in legal-pad-notes of his daily food intake for her to evaluate and provide suggestions on how to make it healthier (her instructions, which I tried desperately to hear all of, were to not eat carbs after 6pm and to “cut back on the caipirinhas”). She’s so patient with this guy that I kind of have to love her despite the whole Lululemon thing and the alleged-recent-birth-of-baby-but-you-could-never-tell envy. It really does seem like she is all about getting us slobs in shape. And so I continue to BURN, with crossed fingers.
