It’s 7:00am when my alarm goes off, after far too few hours, as usual — and it’s Sunday. I peel myself out of a vivid dream and then I’m out of bed, at an hour most people over the age of 19 would consider civilized, but I don’t. I’d much rather roll over and go back into the dream, thank you.
So why am I up, having a full breakfast half an hour later, and pulling on my exercise gear (including my Xena the Warrior Princess sports bra — truly a marvel of engineering genius that probably uses 100 calories just to put on) for an 8:30 killer barre class halfway across town?
Accountability: The barre studio has a super-clever way of getting you to show up to what is essentially a drop-in class: pre-registration, and a penalty for last-minute cancellations. So all I have to do to trick myself into going is pre-register. Then I have to go or forfeit the class.
Community: I’m going with someone who matters to me, whose opinion counts, who has two little kids and doesn’t get enough time to herself. And I’m driving. And to top it off, the instructor also knows I’m coming. They’d both be okay with it, of course, if I didn’t show, but disappointed. And so would I.