Move
BARRE3 TAUGHT ME TO SAY “NO”
Sara Gustafson, member of barre3 DC 14th Street studio, shares how learning to modify and say “no” led to a life-changing paradigm shift.
“You know what’s coming next! Barre3 burpees! Let’s go!”
I had taken three classes already this week. Truthfully, I was in the studio more for the mental reset than the physical workout, needing a breather in the midst of a stressful day. I smiled quietly to myself, continuing to squat in time to the beat as everyone around me hit the cork floor. It was an easy “no.”
That “no” had not always come so easily, inside the studio or out. Especially out. Like so many of us (especially women), I had a deep-seated fear of disappointing people, letting people down, not measuring up to people’s expectations—all of which led to a near-inability to say “no” to just about anything. Last-minute guests coming to dinner after a hard week? I’d down three Advil, run to the grocery store, and whip something up. Unpaid tasks need doing at work? I was your gal.
In the fitness realm, I came of age in the “no pain, no gain” and “sweat is just your fat crying for mercy” era. The idea of modifying a workout, not pushing as hard as I possibly could, not looking like the instructor or like everyone else—that was unimaginable. That would mean I was failing; it would mean I wasn’t good enough. And I could never let that happen. So I learned to ignore pain, force my body into movements and postures that didn’t feel natural, and push through workouts I absolutely hated.
I fell in love with barre3 from my very first taste of it at the San Diego Wanderlust festival in 2016. The musicality, the flow between movements, the energy of the instructors—it immediately felt like home. But at first, I approached barre3 like I had all my other workouts. I was there to push, to go as hard as I could, to “feel the burn” and never stop to consider whether it was a healthy blaze or a destructive inferno. I went for the fullest expression, the hardest choreography. When my hip flexors ached or my knee twinged sharply, I rarely backed off; I either thought that’s just how exercise was supposed to feel, or I beat myself up for “not being strong enough” to keep up.
There was something about the barre3 space, though, the barre3 ethos, that slowly began to work its way in. Hearing “listen to your body” and “if it doesn’t work for you, ditch it” on repeat, and seeing people around me take those words to heart, gave me pause. While I was still disappointed in myself if I took a modification or dropped my weights, I began to give myself permission to do so occasionally.
Then one day in class, about three months in, an instructor remarked off-handedly, “I always modify this pose. I have short hip flexors; my body just doesn’t move like that.”
I felt my foundation shift. My body just doesn’t move like that. Just like that—no embarrassment, no shame, just a matter-of-fact statement. I’d never before considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I struggled with some poses because they physically just didn’t work for me. That modifying wasn’t a sign of weakness but in fact just a statement of my body’s reality. On a whim, I tried the concept in action. When the instructor cued all fours with a weight behind our left knee, I left my weight on the floor. Trying to hold the weight behind my bent knee always made me tense up anxiously, causing my calf and hamstring to cramp. Today, though, I found I could suddenly focus all my energy, all my attention on the feeling of my glute and hamstring contracting and releasing with the movement, the feeling of my core lifting away from the floor, my shoulders working to keep me stable. That one shift, that one small “no” led me to a deeper, more connected posture. Who knew?
I walked out of class that day feeling my mind and body connected in a way they never had before. For once, I had treated my body like a partner, like someone I trusted and respected, like someone I loved, instead of like a machine I had to run at the highest setting. And lo and behold, my body responded in kind, trusting me as well. For the first time in my adult memory, I felt present and safe in my body, not disassociated from my physical experience. I felt whole.
From that day, I was hooked. Barre3 became my meditation space as well as my favorite workout. As I built up my core, my triceps, my glutes, my “no” muscle grew stronger as well. I started to recognize what a “no” felt like in my body and to respect that message and choose something different. I began to experiment with different poses to work the same muscle groups and find which ones I connected with most. I began to allow myself to modify not just when “my body didn’t move like that” but also when I was tired, when I was sore, when I just didn’t enjoy a pose (carousel horse was often a no!). And the more I trusted my body’s signals, the more whole I became.
Learning what “no” feels like, as it turns out, was a critical life skill that I had lacked for far too long. As I built that muscle in the studio, it became harder to ignore in my outer life as well. And more importantly, I no longer wanted to ignore it. I no longer wanted to operate from a place of disconnection from my body, my intuition. I knew now that my body’s signals were there to serve me and that by listening to them, I would only get stronger and more whole.
My barre3 “no” muscle helped me turn down freelance work I just didn’t have time for, despite my fear of losing a client. It helped me slow down when I was sick and take luxurious care of myself instead of pushing through and inevitably ending up sicker. It helped me know, deep in my core, that it was time to leave my unhealthy marriage and, even more importantly, that I had the strength to do so and thrive. It helped me recognize that my decades-long wine habit wasn’t doing me any good; I am now a happy non-drinker. In a very real way, my barre3 “no” muscle helped save my life.
These days in the studio, I modify shamelessly and often. Flat-back core? I don’t even pretend; I just immediately grab my core ball and go to incline. Overhead tricep extension? You’ll find me in drinking bird. Some days I push, some days I work leisurely, but every day is driven by what my body is telling me it needs. What it’s telling me I need. Now, every day, I’m listening.
@sara_judith_writes
@barre3dc14thst
–
We love hearing from our community. If you are interested in sharing your barre3 story, please reach out to press@barre3.com.
Sara Gustafson, member of barre3 DC 14th Street studio, shares how learning to modify and say “no” led to a life-changing paradigm shift.
“You know what’s coming next! Barre3 burpees! Let’s go!”
I had taken three classes already this week. Truthfully, I was in the studio more for the mental reset than the physical workout, needing a breather in the midst of a stressful day. I smiled quietly to myself, continuing to squat in time to the beat as everyone around me hit the cork floor. It was an easy “no.”
That “no” had not always come so easily, inside the studio or out. Especially out. Like so many of us (especially women), I had a deep-seated fear of disappointing people, letting people down, not measuring up to people’s expectations—all of which led to a near-inability to say “no” to just about anything. Last-minute guests coming to dinner after a hard week? I’d down three Advil, run to the grocery store, and whip something up. Unpaid tasks need doing at work? I was your gal.
In the fitness realm, I came of age in the “no pain, no gain” and “sweat is just your fat crying for mercy” era. The idea of modifying a workout, not pushing as hard as I possibly could, not looking like the instructor or like everyone else—that was unimaginable. That would mean I was failing; it would mean I wasn’t good enough. And I could never let that happen. So I learned to ignore pain, force my body into movements and postures that didn’t feel natural, and push through workouts I absolutely hated.
I fell in love with barre3 from my very first taste of it at the San Diego Wanderlust festival in 2016. The musicality, the flow between movements, the energy of the instructors—it immediately felt like home. But at first, I approached barre3 like I had all my other workouts. I was there to push, to go as hard as I could, to “feel the burn” and never stop to consider whether it was a healthy blaze or a destructive inferno. I went for the fullest expression, the hardest choreography. When my hip flexors ached or my knee twinged sharply, I rarely backed off; I either thought that’s just how exercise was supposed to feel, or I beat myself up for “not being strong enough” to keep up.
There was something about the barre3 space, though, the barre3 ethos, that slowly began to work its way in. Hearing “listen to your body” and “if it doesn’t work for you, ditch it” on repeat, and seeing people around me take those words to heart, gave me pause. While I was still disappointed in myself if I took a modification or dropped my weights, I began to give myself permission to do so occasionally.
Then one day in class, about three months in, an instructor remarked off-handedly, “I always modify this pose. I have short hip flexors; my body just doesn’t move like that.”
I felt my foundation shift. My body just doesn’t move like that. Just like that—no embarrassment, no shame, just a matter-of-fact statement. I’d never before considered the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I struggled with some poses because they physically just didn’t work for me. That modifying wasn’t a sign of weakness but in fact just a statement of my body’s reality. On a whim, I tried the concept in action. When the instructor cued all fours with a weight behind our left knee, I left my weight on the floor. Trying to hold the weight behind my bent knee always made me tense up anxiously, causing my calf and hamstring to cramp. Today, though, I found I could suddenly focus all my energy, all my attention on the feeling of my glute and hamstring contracting and releasing with the movement, the feeling of my core lifting away from the floor, my shoulders working to keep me stable. That one shift, that one small “no” led me to a deeper, more connected posture. Who knew?
I walked out of class that day feeling my mind and body connected in a way they never had before. For once, I had treated my body like a partner, like someone I trusted and respected, like someone I loved, instead of like a machine I had to run at the highest setting. And lo and behold, my body responded in kind, trusting me as well. For the first time in my adult memory, I felt present and safe in my body, not disassociated from my physical experience. I felt whole.
From that day, I was hooked. Barre3 became my meditation space as well as my favorite workout. As I built up my core, my triceps, my glutes, my “no” muscle grew stronger as well. I started to recognize what a “no” felt like in my body and to respect that message and choose something different. I began to experiment with different poses to work the same muscle groups and find which ones I connected with most. I began to allow myself to modify not just when “my body didn’t move like that” but also when I was tired, when I was sore, when I just didn’t enjoy a pose (carousel horse was often a no!). And the more I trusted my body’s signals, the more whole I became.
Learning what “no” feels like, as it turns out, was a critical life skill that I had lacked for far too long. As I built that muscle in the studio, it became harder to ignore in my outer life as well. And more importantly, I no longer wanted to ignore it. I no longer wanted to operate from a place of disconnection from my body, my intuition. I knew now that my body’s signals were there to serve me and that by listening to them, I would only get stronger and more whole.
My barre3 “no” muscle helped me turn down freelance work I just didn’t have time for, despite my fear of losing a client. It helped me slow down when I was sick and take luxurious care of myself instead of pushing through and inevitably ending up sicker. It helped me know, deep in my core, that it was time to leave my unhealthy marriage and, even more importantly, that I had the strength to do so and thrive. It helped me recognize that my decades-long wine habit wasn’t doing me any good; I am now a happy non-drinker. In a very real way, my barre3 “no” muscle helped save my life.
These days in the studio, I modify shamelessly and often. Flat-back core? I don’t even pretend; I just immediately grab my core ball and go to incline. Overhead tricep extension? You’ll find me in drinking bird. Some days I push, some days I work leisurely, but every day is driven by what my body is telling me it needs. What it’s telling me I need. Now, every day, I’m listening.
@sara_judith_writes
@barre3dc14thst
–
We love hearing from our community. If you are interested in sharing your barre3 story, please reach out to press@barre3.com.
