It’s been a long winter of drinking craft cocktails, layering infinity scarves on top of chunky cable knit sweaters, and eating for the Instagram. After all, she’s been a foodie now for months. Well respected on Urban Spoon, receiving invites to Kinfolk dinners (well, technically through a friend of a friend’s friend), and shaming someone for touting Gwyneth Paltrow’s cookbook as “everything.” The foodie life is treating her well.
“I should organize my outfits for Carrie’s bachelorette party in Seaside next month,” she thinks to herself. “I never got to wear that bathing suit I bought last fall.”
So while packing, she pulls it out and decides to try it on. Stepping in front of her mirror next to the bed frame she re-covered as a day-long DIY project in February, a wave of anxiety floods over her psyche at her first glance of herself. Thoughts of winter’s past flood her brain: lobster eggs benedict, foie gras-covered hamburgers, truffle fries, deep fried avocado, horseradish scalloped potatoes.
“Oh, no. What have I done?” She racks her brain for the last time she worked out in favor of going to a restaurant for half-off appetizers. “Was the last Pure Barre class I went to seriously in… October?” Her face resembles that of the wide-eyed emoji combined with the screaming ghost.
She gets on her gold MacBook and Googles the nearest yoga studio. For the next hour, she litters her search history with words like “vinyasa” and “ashtanga” because at this point, clean eating and essential oils aren’t going to do the trick. This winter weight needs to go and it needs to go fast. What will the girls in Seaside think if she wears a t-shirt in the pool? She can’t wear her favorite bandeau top looking like this.
Drawing a calendar onto her monogrammed Lilly stationary, she stacks the next month and a half with classes at studios all around her apartment. What used to be happy hours are now intensive hot yoga sessions. Brunches have turned into bikram. The French-fusion cuisine blogs she once visited have been replaced with The Gracious Pantry and Clean Eating Chelsey.
A month passes and she’s already seeing immediate changes. Her hard work is paying off, and everyone in her classes is taking notice. “Girl, I’m not even kidding, you’re killing it and everyone is taking notice,” one stranger says. “Would you mind telling me about your routine? You’re seriously so inspiring.”
“Oh my gosh, stop,” she says while secretly she never wants this conversation to end.
And just like that, a coming-of-age moment occurs. “If I can inspire one person, why can’t I inspire a whole group of people?” she ponders. “I mean, my fashion blog had like 100 unique visitors in its first month and I barely tweeted. I didn’t even have an Instagram for it.”
She walks over to her Pure Barre instructor and coyly starts, “First of all, love you, love your class.” They laugh. She continues, “so like, was it hard getting certified as an instructor?”
“Girl, no, you could totally do it.”
Her face lights up with a slight blush as if she didn’t know that would be the answer (which she clearly did).
“You only need to have, like, 50 classes under your belt and then after going through the certification process at the Pure Barre headquarters, you just have to audition and get hired by a studio. It’d be a breeze for you. You’re such a natural.”
Trying to remain calm, she takes a deep breath and responds, “This is something I’ve always wanted to do. My mantra is totally ‘be the change you wish to see in the world’ and I think this could be my way of really personifying that, you know?” After all, she already has at least 25 classes completed, and her body is changing so positively that it’s not like she can just stop now.
When she gets back to her apartment, she hangs her Patagonia Snap Fleece on her West Elm clothes tree, pours a celebratory glass of Pinot Noir, and FaceTimes her mom.
“Mom, before you say anything, I have mon-u-mental news. Ready? I’m going to be a Pure Barre instructor.” .
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