What is this workout and how does it get Ripa into crazy shape? This is what I want to know before committing. I do some research and make some calls (remember, on most days I'm not just a couch potato, but also a journalist).
One measly Google search and I find out that Physique 57 is worshiped not only by Ripa, but models like Christy Turlington � great, I'm going to fit right in. I then watch a video of Martha Stewart giving it a go and relax a bit. If Martha can do it, surely I will be OK.
I gather the basics: Physique opened its doors to hip Manhattanites in 2006, and is based on the popular "Lotte Berk Method," a combination of strength-training, dance, and orthopedic stretches created in the 1950s by a former well-known ballet dancer. It was co-founded by Jennifer Vaughan Maanavi, a dance enthusiast, Columbia MBA, and former Wall Street professional (pssh, not intimidating), and Tanya Becker, one of the foremost instructors of "The Lotte Berk Method" for more than a decade. It now has droves of fans and devoted followers all claiming unique, rapid results from the low-impact workout and thanks to so many clamoring for it, Physique opened new studios in New York and Los Angeles and came out with a series of fitness DVDs.
But more importantly, I wanted to know if this workout would work for me:
Fun dancing and ballet integration that's likely to keep me interested: Check.
Low impact, which is easier on my joints: Check.
Unique, rapid results: Double check.
Alright, where do I sign up?
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And so it begins
I show up to the relatively new Beverly Hills Physique 57 studio for my first class of my 30-day trial membership, pumped to experience the "unique, rapid results" Ripa, women on the Internet, and my friend Tricia, claimed were only a handful of classes away. Wearing some black yoga pants and a Hanes shirt, I felt cool, confident, ready to work it.
I walk into the carpeted studio (carpet? OK no judgment) for the "beginner" class with about 10 other women who all look relatively normal (i.e., not models -- phew) and find a spot in the back of the room. Kyle, the instructor, jogs in. He is lean, tall, and a super good-looking guy in a black tank top. And now I'm nervous.
"Grab a water bottle," he says. "You burn way more calories when you are hydrated." Sounds like crazy fitness instructor talk, but it's true: Researchers at the University of Utah found that adults who consume eight or more glasses of water each day burned significantly more calories than people who only drank four or less. Good thing I came to class with a 32-ouncer.
Kyle then introduces himself individually to each of us, asks about any preexisting injuries, and instructs us to grab a pair of five-pound weights. "Five pounds?" I think. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
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The method to the madness
I quickly find that each class follows a similar 57-minute (duh) format using five to eight pound hand weights, a ballet barre, and a "playground" ball. Each class also involves a bunch of exercises that use your own body weight, and all of it targets specific muscle groups at specific times.
The workout starts with the arms, then moves to the thighs, rear, abs, then cool down. Why? Co-founder Tanya Becker says, "starting with the arms is a great way to warm the body up and raise your heart rate. The arms have smaller muscles so they may not burn as many calories," which is why minimal, yet effective, time should be spent on them to prep the body for a workout.
Once you make it to the thighs and butt, your body starts to torch calories, says Becker, as these are the largest muscles in the body. Through what seems like never-ending repetitions of leg lifts, plies, squats, standing splits, "playground" ball squeezes (more on this later) and so on, this "interval overload" combines strength and cardio together for a high intensity, calorie-blasting workout that fatigues the muscle groups completely before you get a short stretching break where the muscles get to chill out and lengthen.
The core muscles (or abs) are engaged "80 percent of the class," says Becker, and then get an extra burst of action at the end of class with all kinds of crunches and scissor kicks.
So, as a total newbie, am I even surviving through the arm warm ups, you wonder? Very. Good. Question.
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The burning means it's working
By the time I finish the tricep and bicep movements with the five-pound weights, the planks, and the pushups (mine are even modified), my arms muscles are burning.
We then move to the ballet barre for a sequence of thigh work with what I have been sweetly referring to as the "playground" ball. But really, this thing should be more aptly named the "fiery depths of hell" ball.
Standing facing the barre (if you're at home, use the back of a chair), you place said ball between your thighs, keeping your heels together. Then you're instructed to start pulsing up and down. Sometimes you go slow, sometimes fast, sometimes up and down only an inch, sometimes all the way to the floor. And sometimes, you just sit back and gyrate just your hips forward, clinging to the ball with every ounce of might between your thighs. All of it, every last bit, feels like death -- like your thighs are going to burst into roaring flames. What the hell, literally, is going on?
"That burning sensation is the feeling of lactic acid building up," says Katie Warner Johnson, one of my Physique 57 instructors, a certified personal trainer, and Harvard grad to boot. These thigh movements are making tiny micro tears in the muscle that will, after recovery, build the muscles back longer, leaner, and stronger, says Johnson. It's the burning that means it's working.
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Does the crying mean it's working?
After two weeks of Physique 57 classes, attending five times a week (the recommended amount to see results), I am spent. My body hurts. Everywhere. I'm physically and even emotionally drained by the rigorous routine I've been dragging myself to after work. One day I will feel stronger, and the next, it feels like I'm back to square one. I'm starting to get pissed.
This is where I typically give up and tell myself it's too hard. Frustrated by still not being able to make it through the thigh section without "cheating" (resting or flubbing my form) and not capable of doing a proper pushup, I storm out of class. I plead with myself for a reason to stay, to keep going, to quiet the fat, lazy person that wants so badly to take over my life. My face flushes and I feel hot, stormy tears threaten my cheeks -- why is it that one day I feel great, and the next, awful?
"Everybody builds endurance and stamina differently," says Becker. "Some clients are able to attend every day and others find that coming every other day suits their lifestyle best," she says to comfort me. I'm not comforted and decide to call in the big guns.
Before you judge me on wanting to look like the five-foot-two, less-than-a-hundred-pounds Kelly Ripa, hear this: I fully understand on a fundamental level that I will never, ever look like Kelly Ripa. I'm sane. Reasonable. Not short, or naturally thin. Oh, and I'm a brunette (wink!).
Seriously though -- do I want arms like Ripa's that don't flap in the wind? Yes.
Should my ass be less obtrusive? Probably.
Would it be nice to sit and not have a jellyroll slowly unfold over my jeans? Ab-solutely.
But above all, as a twenty-something woman, do I need to stop considering the walk, I repeat w-a-l-k, up the three flights of stairs to the office my fitness routine for the day? That, my friends, would be an affirmative.
I came to these revelations after a recent visit to the doc. I was sitting in the waiting room and spread across the coffee table were a bunch of "Fitness" and "Shape" magazines with bikini-clad celebs glaring their shiny teeth and flat bellies at me.
There she was -- little-but-larger-than-life Ripa posing in a neon orange two-piece. I picked up the mag and as I thumbed through the pages, reading about her adventures in motherhood, how she never exercised in her twenties, and her "new" love of Physique 57, a trendy workout my friend Tricia was just raving about as I shoveled in a cheesy omelet at brunch, I had a thought.
Do these high faultin' celebrity workouts splashed across glossy magazines actually work for real people? Could I, the former chubbiest girl in the 5th grade whose thighs have never not touched, get the toned body of a celebrity? Could this fitness fad really be as life changing for me as it was for Miss Ripa?
I was determined to find out, to make a change. I was determined to try this Physique 57.
