The New Ladies of Leisure

I was watching an episode of a new MTV show called Awkward recently. In a scene involving a mother-daughter party, an angst-ridden teenage girl described a group of mothers who fit into the mean-girl-turned-trophy wife category. "These women don't work, they work out," the teenager said. As this line was uttered, the women were admiring the toned and tanned biceps of their hostess. It made me think about how the physical traits of status have evolved over the centuries.

On a visit to the Cairo Museum when I was 12, I saw statues of Prince Rahotep and Princess Nofret, each sitting on a throne. Our tour guide explained that the prince was tanned because as a man he was outside, working (or overseeing the slaves); the princess statue was very pale, because a woman of such status did not labor in the sun. I remember thinking at the time how everybody where I lived was tan...on purpose! In fact, the tanner you were, the cooler you were. What a difference a few millennia can make.

Now, as evidenced by the characters on the MTV show and others, women with defined musculature are the modern picture of status. But it's not because they are perceived to be in better health, or admired for their athletic prowess. Rather, it is because a sculpted physique infers an excess of leisure time. Bodies like these require significant time to achieve...and usually money to pay for gym membeships, personal trainers, and trendy private classes.

Take a look at most of those "Real Housewives" shows; those women are competitive in seeing who can lay claim to the most spin classes in one week (in between comparing shoe closets, fancy cars, and private jets). The Bar Method classes I attend have a reputation for attracting this distinct demographic of women. They work out 5 days per week, morning and afternoon, in a different matching designer outfit each class. There's no denying how fit they are, and that in itself is undeniably admirable. Physiques like theirs require committed effort. If I didn't have a job I'm sure I'd work out a lot more. And there's my point.

When a celebrity like Victoria Beckham or Kate Hudson is photographed six weeks after giving birth and already has her figure back to swimsuit model perfection, most of us have the same reactions. First we ask, "How did she lose the weight already?" Then we concede, "Well if I had a couple million in the bank, three nannies, and no job responsibilities, I could spend six hours a day with my personal trainer, too. And then I'd look like that."



Ergo, a thin, muscular body equals leisure time and wealth. Check out actress Julie Bowen's biceps from Sunday night's Emmy Awards. This is the what women in their 30s and beyond are striving for (visible sternum notwithstanding), which is quite different from even my mother's generation.

But as with any good symbol of status, there can be a backlash that follows. A professional woman and mom of three once made an underhanded comment to me that I have the luxury to work out because I don't have children. In reality, I am forced to work out because if I don't I will be in constant pain from a twisted, crooked spine. How odd that I have to defend my habit of exercise. I didn't know if I should be offended by her comment, or impressed that she thought I was so well-off to be able to lead such a luxurious lifestyle of leisure.

While I can't deny the high that comes with a particularly effective workout, I still occasionally long to live just one week in the baroque period, when the height of beauty was having a plump rump. It was an era where leisure time was spent lounging around eating grapes, and not by logging hours on a treadmill.

Can an X Change Her Shape?

I’m not exactly what you’d call a fitness fanatic, but I do like to sweat on a fairly regular basis. With the added bonus of scoliosis (curvature of the spine) in my medical history, my reality is that consistent core-strengthening activity is the best way for me to stay pain-free and upright.

Since my spine is in an S-shape with a slight twist, my back muscles work in a constant dance of compensation for misalignment. My right shoulder drops lower than my left shoulder, my right hip sits higher than my left hip, and my waistline is uneven. It sounds worse than it feels. Until, of course, I get lazy and my back muscles get a little soft. So exercise I must. My back will never be straight, but it can be strong.

A few weeks ago I was overjoyed to discover that a new exercise studio was opening in my town. It’s called The Bar Method, and is a regimen of exercise geared toward sculpting and elongating muscles through the use of isometrics and deep stretching. The “bar” comes from the ballet barre, which is used for balance and support during some of the exercises and stretching. The method has its origins in ballet combined with rehabilitative therapy.

Before signing up for classes, I researched online for class reviews since Bar Method studios exist across the country. 99% of the reviews echoed the same sentiment: “My muscles were trembling after the first 5 minutes.”…“serious kicking of my muscles’ asses”…“your whole body feels like someone beat it with a stick.” Ahhh, sounds fun! I promptly signed up for a month’s worth of unlimited classes. I’ll go 5 days per week, I mused to myself.


Today was my first class. We started promptly at 9:30 with 40 standing leg lifts. Then push-ups. Then triceps work with 3-pound weights which were astonishingly heavy after 50 repetitions of the tiniest pulsations. That’s where this method gets you. Every movement is tiny but works the muscles to utter exhaustion (which is when the uncontrollable trembling surfaces).

Every exercise consists of tucking this, squeezing those, tilting this, and pressing that….60 times. Twenty-five minutes into class, I passed out. I felt all the blood drop out of my upper half so I promptly lowered myself to the softly carpeted floor, where I stayed for 10 minutes with a cool towel on my head, sipping juice brought to me by the instructor. This isn’t the first time I’ve had this reaction to intense exercise, so I was able to recognize it immediately and drop safely. I’ve learned the hard way not to ignore lightheadedness.

After I regained bloodflow to my noggin, I rejoined class and carried on through to the end of the longest hour of my life. Jelly-legged and out of breath, I walked to my car and quite literally plopped into it.

When I got home I tried to redo my ponytail, but couldn’t lift my arms high enough to do so. It wasn’t pain and it wasn’t soreness, but a complete lack of any strength.

I inhaled my lunch, and by 3:30 this afternoon I couldn’t fight napping any longer. I laid down on the couch and instantly fell asleep. I slept so hard that I dreamed about sleeping. When I woke up an hour later, my body felt like I had just disembarked from space flight and was still re-acclimating to gravity. Every limb felt like it was tied to the floor.

Now, twelve hours after class, my upper hamstrings are as tight as bowstrings. I cannot wait to go to bed. I am pooped.

I have committed myself to a full month of classes, and I intend to do at least three per week. Periodically I’ll post updates on how I’m doing and what results I’m getting from it. Changing the shape of an X isn’t easy, but I’m fighting middle age with every step.