This is one of my mom's favorite anecdotes to share to anyone who would listen: Two-year-old me loved to dance. I would dance whenever there was any pop music playing, whether it was from our radio, the neighbor's radio, or our television playing a noontime show. Sometimes, toddler-me would even drag my mom to join my impromptu number, even when she was heavily pregnant with my younger sister.
I would playfully roll my eyes whenever I have to listen to her recount this again and again—because you would never catch adult-me dancing with people around (at least not sober!). Or so I thought—until, I discovered K-pop dance classes.
P.E. v.s. Chubby Ol' Me
This is probably a story familiar to anyone who grew up chubby (or if we're going to be technical about it, overweight). There has never been a time where I didn't have an extra layer of chub on me, and being heavier than my peers meant I didn't have the same stamina they had.
I hated how hard my heart would pound and how sweaty I would get whenever I joined another game of Ice Ice Water or matira, taya. Add to that my lack of hand-eye coordination, and it's no surprise that I dreaded P.E. classes, unlike most of my classmates who enjoyed the hour or so of zooming around our covered court. I was also the typical quiet nerd who would rather read books in the library than run around. (Fun fact: I'm the proud recipient of several Most Books Borrowed From the Library awards.)
For a lot of folks who grew up fat—like me!—their first encounter with working out is probably not the best. Aside from the P.E. classes I dreaded, I distinctly remember my mom buying a bunch of aerobics DVDs that she would make me and my sister follow along to every Sunday morning. It was tiring; it was boring; it was torture for 12-year-old me. But back then, I thought a workout should feel terrible while you're doing it.
P.E. classes in my college days were better, though I still avoided taking classes that I felt were too physically advanced for me. But at the same time, almost daily, I would push myself to do workouts by then-popular Youtube channel Blogilates. It wasn't because I genuinely wanted to, but because I wanted to lose some pounds—especially in my senior year, when Batch Bora was just around the corner. No shade to Cassey Ho, but who would willingly subject themselves to her arm circles, leg drops, and hundreds for fun?
Eventually, however, I fell out of my regular workout routine of sorts after I graduated from university and became too busy with my first job. But some time in 2018, I got roped into buying a first-timer package at a popular spin studio—and I found a workout that I, to my surprise, enjoyed.
Of course, the very first class I took was difficult and intimidating—I had to stay seated for the whole ride. But after I finished the five rides of my first-timer package, I realized I've found a type of workout I actually, thoroughly liked. I did enjoy the, what some joke, cult-ish energy in the bike room, but it was the fact that I was doing choreography on a stationary bike to heart-pumping music that I liked the most.
All throughout 2018 and 2019, I took spinning classes in different studios around Metro Manila, taking these classes thrice or even four times a week. While this routine may seem the pinnacle of fitness at face value, I now realize that I wasn't actually doing it for the healthiest of reasons. Yes, I was—and still am—enjoying spinning, but I was also still working under the assumption that exercise isn't valid if it isn't a little bit like torture.
And then, 2020 and the pandemic happened.
The Year of Chloe Ting
In 2020, I discovered two things that would change the trajectory of my life: K-pop and Chloe Ting Ab Workouts.
Obviously I'm being hyperbolic, but these two things did have a huge impact on me. If we're being technical about it, I actually got into fangirling over K-pop in late 2019 through BTS. (I'm still gutted by the cancellation of what would've been an epic Map of the Soul Tour.) But with the pandemic shutting everything down and forcing everyone to stay inside, I had a lot of free time in my hands. Perhaps too much free time, because I got into even more K-pop groups. I started stanning Seventeen and Tomorrow x Together, rediscovered my high-school love for Shinee, and listened to just about every K-pop girl group out there. And I wasn't alone—some of my friends got into K-pop, too, and we would spend our free time fangirling online.
At the same time, I would see my sister do yet another Chloe Ting Ab Workout in our living room. "My friends and I are doing this 30-day challenge," she told me after I saw her do yet another set of up-and-down planks. Once again, there was my fear of doing anything I deemed too advanced for my physique—but I was also starting to feel the effects of not getting my daily walks outside and my lack of regular spin classes. So before long, Chloe Ting had me on the exercise mat doing hip dips and mountain climbers. And of course, I hated every single minute of it.
But if there's anything I can credit Chloe Ting for, it's for making working out a regular routine for me. After finishing several of her challenges and eventually getting bored of them, I could actually feel my body crave exercise when I've skipped a few days. Throughout 2020 until 2022, I would go through even more home workouts on Youtube. I even dabbled in at-home strength training (albeit only using 10-pound dumbbells—I'm definitely no power lifter), and also discovered HIIT classes set to K-pop music (I still hated them, but at least I loved the playlist!). And thanks to the Youtube algorithm introducing me to a new wave of fitness influencers (shout-out to Natacha Océane!) I discovered a new concept that has now changed the way I looked at working out: joyful movement.
Joyful movement simply means that you must enjoy the kind of workouts you choose to do. It might not seem mindblowing to some—but it was to me, who would always put off working out until the last possible minute, and would only do it because I felt like I had to. Working out doesn't have to feel like torture, after all, and you don't always have to do it for an end goal. You can simply move for the fun of it.
And a form of joyful movement I've discovered, and am still enjoying now is K-pop dance classes.
Healing My Inner Child Through K-Pop
It all started when one of my close friends, who was also into K-pop, sent me an Instagram post by dance fitness studio 808 Studio. It was one of their 808 Cover classes for K-pop girl group Le Sserafim's "Antifragile."
I was admittedly hesitant—outside of clubs when I've had one too many shots, I did my best to avoid dancing in front of other people. My aforementioned lack of hand-eye coordination and my seeming inability to move to a beat meant I wasn't exactly a great—or even good—dancer. Plus, I felt, for lack of a better word, shy. Maybe deep down, I'm still the quiet nerdy kid who only kept to herself and did everything she could to avoid the limelight.
But, I figured, maybe I owed it to that kid to give it a shot anyway. "It's like healing our inner child,” my friend joked.
So I bought a first-timer package for five classes from 808 Studio—and I've never looked back since.
What Happens in a K-pop Dance Class
An 808 Cover (previously called 808 Specials) class ideally runs for 90 minutes—though sometimes it extends over that time frame if the dance is particularly hard to learn. But there's no expectation from any 808 instructor for you to master a dance in one class. It's always emphasized that it's everyone's first day learning. After all, when you think about it, it's impossible that our favorite K-pop idols mastered their intense choreography in a single day.
Classes are open to all levels—I'm always in awe of the more seasoned dancers in class while also laughing my mistakes away with my fellow newbies. Before every class ends, everyone is divided into smaller groups that each perform the routine in front of the rest of their classmates.
It was admittedly nerve-wracking the first time I experienced it—I didn't grow up performing in front of an audience, after all. But when instructors say this is a judgment-free zone, they aren't lying. Whether you perform the best run of your life or make every mistake under the sun, trust that the audience will cheer for you. After all, what's important is you got out there and did it.
Aside from 808 Studio, I now also regularly take K-pop classes from Kidlat Dance Studio, where the class length and format is pretty much similar to 808's. Funnily enough, I would sometimes see familiar faces across studios. It's one of my favorite things—finding the same people whenever I take classes for a certain K-pop group, knowing that we share love for the same idols.
It's now become routine for me and that friend who invited me to try a K-pop dance class with her—now my regular dance-class buddy—to joke whenever one of our favorite groups would release new music (or, in K-pop terms, have a comeback): "I think we can do this choreo." Of course, it's all in jest, but we're now open to trying difficult things. I don't shy away from activities now even if they seem out of my fitness level at first glance—while also keeping in mind that movement should be something I enjoy. I just know my inner child is proud.
Almost every weekend now, my mom, still sleepy—as one should be on a Saturday morning—would catch me in the kitchen, hurriedly filling up my water bottle. Sometimes, she would make me breakfast, and ask: "Where are you off to?"
I'm off to dance.
