Raising the barre with The Dailey Method: The cure for one reformed exercise addict

Exercise in the morning before you drink you're coffee. You'll feel better for it. I swear.

What brings on this burst of earnest fitness fever? Many things, culminating in a nagging internal voice and that slow, steady secretary spread creeping across my backside. Of late, the voice has become a cacophony of shouts and I've decided not to capitulate to an office chair-shaped ass. Really, there is something I can do about it. How did I let it get to this -- voices in my head and a square bum?

Let me give you a bit of background... growing up I was an athlete. Training for several hours a day in a variety of sports until field hockey took hold, waking me up at 6am for 3-mile rollerblades to 4-hour practices. High school glory followed (yes, we were glorious. The record speaks for itself and false modesty would be just as ugly here)... state champs and all that. Lean, mean hockey machines, we were. Thus followed what we had been primed for -- university-level hockey (after a summer as a lifeguard, natch), a huge disappointment for me.

At uni, we were met by M, head raisin (and coach at times), what she most resembled, standing at 5-foot nothing, sun parched and withered to a soft, wrinkly finish from lack of food (the fate of life-long anorexia + binge exercise)) and sunscreen. She had a strange way about her. Mentally, she was your twisted drill sergeant, toying with your mind as if it were a mouse caught between her feline paws; escape was futile. Physically, the team was a bit, well, paunchy and indolent. 5 minutes of jogging pre-practice did not a workout make. Where were the hours spent sprinting? The drills? The not standing around like toddlers in centerfield staring at the clouds? Gone, it was, with the high school glory. I began exercising -- aerobics, running, sprinting, lifting, swimming... whatever -- on my own time, becoming a certified personal trainer for a giggle (no way I was doing that professionally, what with my student debt load. I chose journalism instead. Joke's on me). I digress, but it is purposeful: to show just how much of an exercise rat I had been MY ENTIRE LIFE, to my core... up to moving to London in 2004, when I promptly sat down and haven't risen since.

In an instant, the thing that had defined me throughout my life had disappeared as quickly as my toned abs did. Bam! A few good odd jobs (in front of a computer) were followed by a stint in a dysfunctional work relationship (sat in front of a laptop) for a slatternly, self-styled web guru. Whoosh! Fast forward two years and still glued to that 15-inch screen in the start-up era.

Guess where I am right now? Ja, ja. Same place.

Exercise and I have an intimate, entangled history, even though I've been skillfully and successfully giving it the cold shoulder for years, giving my laptop undivided attention instead. Sure, there were and are micro fits and starts of fitness in my life. I did climb Kilimanjaro (although that was a one off)... usually, it's 30 minutes on the recumbent bicycle checking my emails or a set of sit-ups while watching House once every few weeks. Or, if I'm feeling particularly sporty, a rogue and breathless dash to a Pilates studio, arriving 5 minutes after the start of class. None of it habit-forming, like a good addictive substance is meant to be.

The short of my almost phobia for fitness it is that I was burnt out, plain and simple, after so many years of forcing it upon myself. I still cringe at the thought of going for a jog and think I'll go crazy 3 minutes into the weights. The sheer inanity of such repetitious behaviour just terrorises me. I cannot glance in the direction of a treadmill anymore without narrowed eyes.

However, thought of re-entering the world of the non-flabulous has again crossed my mind.

How many women out there must workout every day, loathing every single minute of it but doing it out of obligation or fear of what will happen if they, god forbid, don't!? I did it for years and the backlash was an all-out boycott of the thing I used to do daily, without fail... the single thing that defined me, the thing I was best at.

What could bring on such a stirring after so many years of vehement abstinence? No doubt the years off the wagon helped. Looking back, it was the sort of thing someone like me had to do cold turkey. My relationship with sports and exercise was simply all-encompassing and, frankly, it was always going to be a messy breakup. There was no asking exercise to be friends, happily if somewhat cautiously co-existing in the same realm. No trial separation. I fled and didn't call, didn't leave a note, hoping it would just forget me... Several years later after my first trip to The Dailey Method studio in Chicago's Bucktown and I think we can find a friendly middle ground on which to co-exist, this time without the guilt and self-flagellation.

The Dailey Method is one of those barre classes that's become popular in America and probably at places like Pineapple Studios in Covent Garden, London. It's a hybrid of ballet, Pilates and yoga. After meeting with the Chicago branch owner today, getting a feel for the place and watching a class, I know it's exactly the sort of gentle yet heart-pumping, mind-engaging, muscle-quivering exercise I'm ready to do. It's a different kettle of fish from the sprinting, kicking, punching, passing of yore. Going back to that's just not an option; I'm truly burnt out on it forever. But starting this review with The Dailey Method, I've come to realise that I'm not burnt out on exercise all together -- it's just certain forms of exercise my body will resist with all its force forever more. Thank god we figured that out now and not 40 pounds and many inches down the road!

And with that, I start my month-long trial of The Dailey Method. Two days a week, for an hour each day, I'll make my way to the studio to pulse, plié and pump my way back into an exercise habit. It takes approximately 21 days to form a habit, so I should be good to go -- steady with resolve -- after 30.

The Dailey Method, 1714 North Damen Avenue, Second Floor, Chicago, IL 60622 (773.904.8913).

Watch this space for the rest of the review series for The Dailey Method. PS: They're also opening a small spa. More news on that soon!

Cool correspondence with Snow & Graham

If you're not in the habit of sending hand-written notes and thank you cards, now is the time to start. It's a habit that will never do you wrong. I have not a single doubt that all of the men and women to whom we look for advice on living, alive or not (Coco Chanel, Audrey Hepburn et al), were die-hard thank you noters. Nowadays, it's the perfect way to slice right through the white noise and electronic haze we live in, thumping us right back down in reality, where people actively create REAL, tangible things for other people. A thank you note is a wonderful way to reconnect on a human level and let someone know you truly appreciate what they've done. How much more thoughtful is an envelope in the letterbox than a beep on the mobile alerting you to a text message? Loads more, that's how much.

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Paul Rehder Salon gives good hair in Chicago

Over the past two years, my life has been what an outside observer might describe as nomadish. I've been scrambling between New York, Chicago and London (with extended stays in Croatia and Philadelphia) meaning that although I spend hours daily writing about beauty, I hardly look like one myself... lack of hair cuts, colours or any sort of TLC for ages on end sometimes means my mousey blonde and grey roots are often two inches long before re-coating them with red. It was in this sorry state that I showed up at the Paul Rehder Salon to trial a Yarok hair treatment (to be featured in a forthcoming review).

Description

A personal friend of Yarok, stylist Michele Mallot was to take care of me and boy did she. Mallot trained with Jacques Dessange in Lyon and practiced there for ten years before returning to the states to launch Dessange in Chicago. She was knowledgeable about hair in a way I don't think I've come across when doing any sort of hair review. After the Yarok treatment with hair oil and scalp massage (complete with eye mask to heighten the sensation of the massage and scent of the oil), she shared exactly which ingredients were needed from Sally Beauty to do a proper at-home dye job (hint: most off-the-shelf dyes won't cut it... something about the wrong combination of lift and developer and deposit). I furiously scribbled notes.

And then I told her I was getting married in just a few days, which is when she graciously offered to cut and colour my hair for free (I'm not sure if I admitted this in the salon, but I was so going to do it myself before she offered!). Two days later, my rear end was back in the comfy seat at her hair station. This is when I got a real feel for the place. As she applied the dye to my hair (possibly a 10 lift for roots and 15 for ends or vice versa) I glanced about and noticed the lavender walls, chestnut features, soft lighting and just how pleasingly intimate the space was. There are no windows in the main salon space but in the front room the windows look out over the quainter end of Chicago's Rush Street (the Upper East Side of the Midwest) from its second-floor perch.

 

After less than half the time I have to leave dye in my hair when at home (Mallot said this is because the right dye was used this time), my hair was washed and my scalp was massaged by Concha (two scalp massages in one week? Yes, please) before guided back to my perch. Michele did a quick, expert trim with the hair wet and then blow dried it so she could continue to shape it dry. After she switched off the drier and I finally had the chance to move my very long fringe out of my eyes, there was just one word to describe the cut and colour (as the in-house eyebrow expert, Nicole, would agree): Sexpot. It was fantastic. The only other time I've had such a brilliant cut was at James Corbett Studio on Manhattan's Union Square.

It was swingy,  my round face was perfectly framed to make it appear slimmer and... the red was AMAZING. It was brilliant but not brassy. It was the perfect, natural red that had always elluded me. Michele explained it's because I was always lifting the hair too many levels when all my hair really needed was to keep the cuticle more closed while depositing more colour.

And then she lassoed in eyebrow expert Nicole Jacob to shape my eyebrows. Now, each of my eyebrows are comprised of approximately 3 hairs (not very thick, too say the least) and just the week before I had the peach fuzz threaded off so I was a bit skeptical there was any more that could be done. But, holy crikey, she shaped them beautifully. It was then that I realised I had just been cleaning up the mess around my skimpy brows all these years and that, no matter how skimpy they are, they still need to be shaped!

I'm going to grow them out completely (not hard for me to do and most people don't notice at all) and let Nicole have her merry way with them at some point before departing for my first beauty port of call, the South Pacific.

The Good

Michele Mallot, expert eyebrow shaping (she does makeup too and she has her own line of it so do ask if you go in), YAROK Sensory Treatment for Hair and Scalp, Yarok shampoo and conditioner, lovely coffee, intimate atmosphere, best hair I've had yet in Chicago. And apparently, from the background info I've read, there's another sought-after expert named David Hewitt who lady's that lunch in Chicago swear by. Paul Rehder Salon is the only place in Chicago to offer Yarok Sensory Treatment for Hair and Scalp.

The Bad

I have no criticism for the salon. The prices will be in line with the quality of service you get so they won't come cheap. Chicagoans, if you take your hair seriously, come here.

Price

Call for treatment prices and appointments.

See images of the Paul Rehder Salon here.

Paul Rehder Salon, 939 North Rush Street at Walton Place, Chicago  (312-943-7404).