heading to the bar(re)

so i like to consider myself as being fairly decent in the fitness department.  i've been working out consistently for over a year now (whee!) and i feel strong and more toned than i've ever been in my whole life.

until i decided to cash in a groupon i bought for pure barre classes in pasadena.  good googly moogly, people.  that was quite an eye-opening 55 minutes, lemme tell you.  i must confess that it wasn't necessarily my first time at this rodeo - back in my junior leaguin' days i joined a group of girls for a similar class that damn near broke me.  obviously, enough time has passed for me to forget all about the agony that was bar method.  heh.

it's a pretty cool looking place, this pure barre.

beyond these doors awaited a handful of torture devices that added to the misery that i voluntarily put my body through.

and this made me smile.

because i really had no idea what to expect, i plopped my instruments of doom somewhere in the middle of the floor and sat down to do a little stretching.  there was an older lady next to me who told me it was just her second class, and another one beside her who'd also just done the class for the first time the day before.  as we chatted, more and more folks showed up - most clad in the uber trendy lululemon gear that i myself have become rather addicted to.  of course, they were all super slim and looked way better in it than i did, but whatever.  i rock my shit, yo.

and then it was time.  the instructor took her place...directly in front of me.  mothereff!  figures.  there i was, in my super sloppy hair and spare tire on prominent display in my hot pink lululemon tank top, already sweating my ass off five minutes in.  and as i glanced furtively around in between stretching exercises, i noticed the lady next to me following along easily, bending herself into a damn pretzel and smiling the whole time.  WTF.  and on my other side, miss all-in-black-lululemon (who also had a good decade on me) dropping easily into the splits - something i haven't done since 1987.

as the class morphed from floor stretching to barre exercises and back to the floor again, i managed to keep up...sorta.  i did have to take breaks when it just got to be too much, and as i poured sweat from every inch of my body i watched my legs shaking from the exertion of the poses.  no pain, no gain, mofos.

when it was over, i was one hot ass mess.

i've got two more classes on my groupon, and i've got 30 days to get 'em done.  i think i'll just spread them out over the next two weeks.  but i can see how effective the routine is, so i went ahead and scooped up a DVD from the display that i can do with the teen at home.

because i never get out to the old town area solo anymore, i decided to stroll along colorado boulevard. besides, i had a top from lululemon that i wanted to exchange for a different color, and so i actually had to go.  had to!

i made a couple of other stops before i remembered that there was a 'lette macaron shop nearby.  and - how convenient! - it was right on my way back to the parking structure where i'd left the pri-YES.  lucky me.

the teen and i are already fans of these things, having tried them at fashion island down in newport beach during our paddleboarding/segway-ing extravaganza.  and despite the fact that i've made macarons before - quite a few times - having these taught me that mine ain't shit.  like, comparing my macarons with the ones from 'lette is like comparing a ford pinto to a freaking bentley.  although these are pricey as hell.  for what i paid for four perfect little cookies, i could have made several dozen.

and then i stopped at the coffee bean next door for a refreshing iced tea before finally making my way to the car and driving just a bit farther to pick up a delicious lunch for me and the teen at porto's bakery.

so, yikes.  solo trips to pasadena are not wallet friendly.  like, at all.  behold:

yeah.  not doing that again.  for my next pure barre class, i'm going in to get my ass handed to me by a 60-year-old, sticking to the water i bring from home, and walking my happy ass right back to the car.  go directly to home, no passing go, no spending $200.

oh, and no, my dear husband, i didn't spend anywhere near that.  it just sounded like a fun way to end my story.