I had hardly got into the swing of pointing my toes (aged 5ish) when Lady Y was taken aside by the ballet teacher (who happened to be her friend – even more mortifying) to say that I wasn’t really cut out for the tutu thing. From what I can understand, I was more of an elephant than a fairy and there was nothing really the ballet teacher could do to correct this.
So it was more the exercise than the plié that appealed to me when I first heard about the Barre class at Frame in Queens Park. I booked myself in with three unsuspecting friends and headed down to the most recently opened Frame gym.
Frame Shoreditch has been a rip roaring success. I just can’t travel that far to sweat. Queens Park’s version opened last year and is a pretty cool NYC-looking space. If I wasn’t always in a rush, I would sit there to read their magazines and sip Coco Vita.
Our teacher, Jaime, actually was a yank. She had leg warmers, ballet shoes and some pretty toned thighs. This was looking hopeful.
But the music and the class’ lack of structure, I thought, let her down. The exercises at the barre could have been so good – if only I could see the mirror to see which way my legs were pointing. And I SO desperately wanted the music to fit. Instead, she kept apologizing for a faulty shuffle.
I’d say that I’ve probably exerted myself more running for a bus than I did in this class. And seeing as it ‘didn’t work’, I will now NEVER be a ballerina.
But do visit Frame to see how a gym should look; the Virgin Actives of this world would blush.