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Workout Classes Have Lost Their F*cking Minds

The music and the lights and post-workout drinks all sound like perfect fodder for Instagram. But do we really need all the flash and sparkle to really get a good sweat? Are we so bored working out that we need booze and strobe lights in order to survive a 50-minute class?

“I recently went to an event at NOVA Fitness in New York, and after the 30-minute EMS sweat sesh, there was a whole bar waiting with cocktails, champagne, and CBD stir-in powders,” says Horwitz. “I am not much of a drinker anymore, but I will say, it makes you want to stick around and be social.”

When you think about it as a social event, spending $40 on a class seems significantly cheaper than a night out with friends. (Though capping off your dehydrating workout with alcohol sort of defeats the point of the workout.) For Horwitz, the gym has become a much more social experience—maybe even a place to meet someone. “I feel a social connection in these classes,” she says. “Because of dimly lit rooms with strobe lights, it elevates people’s endorphins and makes them feel sexy,” she says. “So why not talk to someone? Romantic or friendly.”

Personally, I’m into the club vibes as long as I can temper down the aspects that are a bit overwhelming for me (hence the earplugs), and skip the cocktail. At their core, these workout classes all offer things I love: intensity, fun black lights, and a challenging workout.

At my favorite studio in San Francisco, Rumble Boxing, my trainer—who I can’t see unless I lurch out from behind a weight-bearing pillar—splits his time between demonstrating punch sequences in the dark and manning the DJ turntables. On the screens that line the wall above him, his Instagram handle pierces through the darkness embellished by orange flames; something you might see on the side of a motorcycle. In his hand is a green laser, which doesn’t seem to serve any real purpose other than that it looks cool. And while I’m fully aware that half of my senses have been obliterated by the ambiance and subwoofers, I am, without a doubt, punching this tear-shaped bag harder than I’ve ever punched. My chin is down, my eyes are up, and my form is phenomenal—from what I can see in the near pitch black, at least. I can feel the roar of everyone in the room when the beat drops at the exact time our new punching sequence cues up. It’s all choreographed beautifully.

When this class ends and I unfurl the ear plugs from my ears and readjust my sight to the real world, I’ll complain a bit to those who’ll listen about the spectacle we just endured, and the impracticality of training in darkness, but you better believe I’ll be signing up for next week’s class too.

As long as no one walks in with sparklers in Champagne bottles, I’m a lifer.

Rebecca Brown is a writer in San Francisco covering fashion and wellness. Follow her on Instagram at @Rebecca_NYC_SF.

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I F*cking Love Crying, So Stop Telling Me Not to Do It

One afternoon, when I must have been about eight, my mom told me to stop crying. I don’t remember what I was crying about, but I do remember that I responded: “But I’m already trying so hard not to!” By that young age, I’d already learned that I should hold back my tears. That when I was upset, I had to first and foremost consider the people around me so that I didn’t make them upset.

That’s how it’s been ever since. Personally? I love crying. Whether it’s out of happiness or sadness or the impact of a big realization hitting me or something else I can’t describe, I feel more in touch with whatever I am feeling when I cry. Crying allows me to process that emotion and learn from it. If I don’t, the feeling gets trapped in me and just won’t go away. But some people do not appreciate that I cry so often, so I constantly feel pressured to keep my tears in for their comfort.

I was probably in my teens when it hit me that I cried more than most people. As a six-year-old, I stayed up crying for several consecutive nights because my former babysitter had taken another job. At nine, I cried because I realized that one day, my stuffed animals wouldn’t mean so much to me. I probably cry at least once a week now. Last month, I cried because I read that Chloe Grace Moretz’s dog died, (her second deceased pet in a month!). A few weeks before that, I stopped in the middle of sex to cry because “Don’t Look Down” by Martin Garrix came on and it was just pulling at my heartstrings.

In all these instances, I wanted to cry. I know how to hold back tears if I’m in a professional setting or can’t for some other reason, but I enjoy the release. Sometimes, when I’m in a bad mood, I even search for touching articles or videos because I know I’ll feel better once I cry.

Not everyone feels that way. I always wish my boyfriend, who says he hasn’t cried since he was in the single digits, would cry in front of me. Meanwhile, he wishes I wouldn’t do it so much. Once, when I said I was just trying to connect with him, he said, “then you shouldn’t cry.” Where did we get the idea that crying in front of people blocks them off? In my experience, it brings them closer together.

The more people take issue with my crying in front of them, the less comfortable and in touch they seem to be with their own emotions. Maybe they’re afraid that engaging with me while I’m crying would force them to face feelings they don’t want to face. And that’s fine. They don’t have to.

But I’m tired of them projecting that discomfort onto me. People who tell me to stop crying aren’t actually trying to make me feel better. They know the feelings will be there whether I cry or not. They just want me to help them avoid emotions because emotions make them uncomfortable. But for me, not crying is too big a sacrifice to make for other people’s comfort.

I’m also sick of reassuring people that I’m crying out of happiness, not sadness. Because a lot of my tears can’t really be attributed to either. Often, I’m just moved. Sometimes, I’m having a breakthrough. And when I am crying out of sadness or anger, that’s not a bad thing. Feeling these feelings is not going to lead to anything disastrous! In fact, it’ll probably only lead me to greater healing and self-understanding. But not if I pretend to be happy for someone else’s sake.

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