Park your car and sit down with the engine running. I arrived to my training class about 20 minutes early because it was very cold outside. Gone are the days of feeling the breeze at the last minute and confidently and carefreely grabbing a front row spot. Now I have him arrive 20 minutes early. I exhale in the cold air as I watch other cars arrive and the women jump out.
Now it’s time to enter. I remind the kind girl at the front desk who I am. I put my belongings in the cubicle and pressed my bare feet into the slightly soft floor of the barre studio. I found a seat in the back row. I check my heart rate and it’s still normal. You may have deceived me.
The teacher asks my name.she remembers me in front. I answer, smile, nod—Yes, I’m trying to go back! I tell myself I don’t need to be ashamed that it’s been so many years since I last walked through this door.
I sit and wait for class to start. Old friends, new friends, experts, beginners, talkers and silent ones. It’s Saturday morning now, and the women are coming to work at the bar.
That’s when I stretch out the length of my studio and stare intently at my reflection in the mirror. I blink quickly and it’s her 2016, another version of me reflected in the mirror. Long hair, tiny leggings, toned arms. Ah, another life! In many ways, I was the boss, I was the found out kid, and I was the baby myself.
Blink again and I’m back here. My hair is the shortest it’s been in years. My body is different. Not the biggest ever. Far from the smallest. My leggings are not too small and are soft on the arms. I traded the stress of 9pm in the newsroom for the sweetness of 9pm in my daughter’s room, the harsh reality of a world far away from pink pillows and ocean sound machines.
says the young woman next to me. I saw you here last week! She gives me pep talks. This is a word I would give to someone new to me. If you show up, the battle is half the battle! I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it! It will be easy! When should I tell her that I gave her a similar pep talk before? I just found out she’s an executive. She works and travels a lot. And if results are to come, she’ll be showing up to the Valley at least five times a week. Forget the mirror to the past. she’s next to me.
Class begins. My muscles scream in unison and I sigh. My body remembers it. Never miss a beat. Correct some movements. I realized with pride that I not only know this body of mine, but respect it. Know when to push. Know when to rest. I check my heart rate. It’s expensive, but still normal. I’m shaking. are doing. I’m different. I am the same.
If you’ve ever taken a barre, yoga, or Pilates class, you know the collective groan that occurs when you hear the phrase “tight abs.” Soon the class will reach that point. I’m wondering if that’s even possible if the C-section scar continues from hip to hip. After all, it’s a fact and I’m proud of it. I feel like I’m back where I started, but alas, I’m far from where I started.
There is no limit to my strength. I may not be the fittest woman in the room or have the most stickers on my attendance sheet, but am I strong? Got it in spades. And it reminds me once again of not just my body, but all of its potential. It’s also my heart. In this room, hit with this volleyball. A few miles away, her daughter and her husband are spending a leisurely morning together. And a steady, constant hum of sadness: of the past, of the child I’ll never hold again, of the things that have changed so much, of the things that have broken my heart, and the slow stitching of it together. About what you said. Not the same; brand new.
A 50-minute class feels much longer when you’re shaking, sweating, and stretching. Once my journey in the mirror comes full circle, it feels like an eternity. The person I once was has been replaced by the person I am now. As time passed, her job, home, body, and most of all her heart changed. Mirror: A glimpse into our past. Show us what is in the present. And it gives us a gift by refusing to show us what is going to happen.
As class ends and the women roll up their mats and say their goodbyes, I take another look at myself. I smile and nod in the mirror. I say goodbye to the girl next door. She’ll likely have four more ballet classes before we meet again next week. She is happy with the way she looks in her mirror today. She is also happy for her.
And when I flip out my (short) hair in front of the mirror, head to my car, and drive home, I see a reflection of the best version of myself imaginable: my daughter, and I’m no different. I’m happy.
