When Fish Tacos Go Wrong: The Delicate Balance of Barre Banter

Leslie Guerin • September 2, 2025

How one lighthearted class conversation spiraled into an unforgettable client moment—and what it taught me about teaching.

Setting the Scene

Every fitness instructor has that story. The one that makes you laugh even years later, when the memory sneaks back into your mind mid-class or when you’re chatting with a fellow teacher over coffee. Mine happened on a late summer Tuesday—yes, a Taco Tuesday—during a group barre class that should have been as routine as any other.

I’d been teaching for years by this point, and this particular group was filled with regulars. Familiar faces, people who knew each other’s quirks and mine, too. That’s one of the magical things about group classes—there’s movement, of course, but there’s also community. And before people can really drop into their bodies and find their flow, I’ve always believed they need to first find the room. That means laughter, connection, disarming any self-consciousness about who’s “better” or “stronger.” My warmups are as much about engaging the group as they are about engaging the core.

Enter: My NYC Client

One of my long-standing clients that day had been with me for over a decade. She wasn’t a native Mainer, though she had a house in the Portland area. She originally found me because her mother had been devoted to the Lotte Berk Method in New York City back in the day, and when she discovered I taught barre, she was immediately hooked.

This woman had been moving with me faithfully for years. I knew her habits, her strengths, her sense of humor. Or so I thought.

The Tacos That Sparked It All

That Tuesday, as the class warmed up, I casually mentioned what a perfect day it would be to fire up the grill. One client immediately chimed in, “Oh yes, grilled fish tacos sound perfect!”

Now, here’s the thing: I love tacos. I love all kinds of tacos. But fish? Nope. Absolutely not. So I laughed and said what I always say when this comes up (because, somehow, it always comes up):

“I love tacos, but you can keep the fish.”

That kicked off my well-worn spiel about how I don’t like seafood. Not just fish—nothing from the ocean. It can all happily stay in the sea, seaweed included. I can’t even get behind a California roll because of the nori wrap. To this day, I tell my clients, “You can all enjoy the ocean’s bounty, that just means more for you—but I’m out.”

The class chuckled. Everyone had heard this before. It was a familiar rhythm, like a running inside joke we’ve been playing out for years.

The Unexpected Question

But then my longtime NYC client, with complete sincerity, looked at me and asked:

“Well, you must eat shellfish?”

I shook my head. Nope. Nothing. No lobster, no clams, no shrimp cocktail, nothing. I don’t eat anything that swims, crawls, or drifts in the ocean.

And that’s when she paused, tilted her head, locked eyes with me, and—without a hint of irony—asked:

“Do you know how to swim?”

The room went silent for a second. My brain short-circuited. I laughed, because surely she was joking, right? But no—she was dead serious.

I blurted out, laughing louder than I probably should have, “Yes! Of course I know how to swim. I grew up at an ocean summer home! I spent half my childhood in the water!”

I still don’t know exactly what she was connecting in her mind—perhaps thinking that refusing seafood meant I had some deep-seated fear of the sea itself. But the randomness of it caught me completely off guard, and the class broke into laughter.

The Lesson Hidden in the Laughter

It’s funny looking back now—and trust me, I still chuckle about it whenever Taco Tuesday rolls around—but that moment highlighted something important for me as a teacher.

When you’re in the role of instructor, you’re not just a body at the front of the room demonstrating exercises. You’re leading, guiding, setting the tone. But at the same time, you’re also creating space for connection, humor, and being human. The balance between sharing pieces of yourself and keeping the focus on your clients can sometimes get wobbly.

That day, I realized just how personal clients can get with you when you open up—even about something as trivial as tacos and seafood preferences. It’s a reminder that the energy in the room is a living, breathing thing, shaped not just by the movements but by the words, the banter, the vibe.

And yes, sometimes that means you’ll end up on the receiving end of a wildly unexpected question like, “Do you know how to swim?”

Why Stories Matter in Group Fitness

I often tell teachers-in-training that your class isn’t just about delivering a perfectly sequenced workout. People don’t come back week after week just for the burn in their quads—they come back for the experience, the community, and the personality that weaves through the session.

Stories—big or small—humanize the process. They break down walls. They remind everyone that while we’re working on strength, flexibility, and alignment, we’re also allowed to laugh, connect, and be surprised.

Of course, the flip side is that you never quite know what direction those conversations will take. One minute you’re talking about fish tacos, the next minute you’re defending your swimming skills. That’s the delicate balance: staying approachable and authentic while still holding the authority of the room.

Bringing It Back to Barre (and Beyond)

At its core, barre is about control, precision, and connection—connection to the body, yes, but also connection to the room and the group. That’s why I take time in the warmup to check in with people, ask questions, share a laugh. It shifts everyone from the outside world into the present moment.

But here’s the thing: once you open that door to connection, you’re signing up for unpredictability. And honestly? That’s what makes it fun.

Without those moments, classes would blur together. Instead, I have stories like this one that still make me laugh years later, stories that remind me why I love what I do.

The Takeaway

So what’s the moral of this fish-taco-gone-wrong tale? It’s this:

  • Be human with your clients. Share stories. Let them see you.
  • Know that sometimes, those conversations will veer into the absurd.
  • And always, always be ready for the unexpected—because the best memories are usually unplanned.

Oh, and in case anyone else is wondering: yes, I do know how to swim.


By Leslie Guerin February 22, 2026
There is a common misunderstanding about Pilates that has grown louder over the years: that it is meant to be gentle, slow, soft and easy. A “nice” workout. But that was never the intention. Pilates was not created to be performative. It was created to be effective. Effectiveness in movement does not come from looking impressive. It comes from precision. Somewhere along the way, the visual of Pilates became louder than the method itself. Long limbs moving with beautiful choreography and endless repetitions. Classes that look like Pilates. But looking like Pilates, being called Pilates and being Pilates are not the same thing. And most people, including many teachers, skip the part that actually makes it work. Pilates Was Never Meant to Be Performative Joseph Pilates did not design a system that rewarded momentum. He designed a system that required attention. Not attention to how something looks, though that is how you can tell if the exercises is executed properly. The attention should ideally be to how something is done. Modern fitness culture thrives on performance. Movement is filmed, shared, and packaged visually. The more dynamic it looks, the more engaging it appears. The more repetitions, the more it seems productive. This is where Barre and Pilates differ. This is where those lines have blurred and I quietly hope Pilates can resists this fad. A well-taught Pilates class may look almost uneventful from the outside. To someone expecting entertainment, it can seem understated. To the nervous system, it is deeply demanding. Because Pilates was never designed to entertain the eye. It was designed to reorganize the body. It is art, but not for arts sake. Precision Requires Attention Precision creates actual change. When movement becomes rushed, the body defaults to habit. Stronger muscles take over. Momentum replaces control. Alignment becomes approximate instead of intentional. Slowing down in Pilates is not about being gentle. It is about being accurate. It allows the brain to register position, and control. It gives the body time to respond instead of react. Precision is not passive. It is neurologically active. Holding a half curl with the neck long, ribs quiet, and breath organized requires far more attention than swinging through ten repetitions with momentum. Performing a leg circle without pelvic movement demands significantly more control than making the circle bigger or faster. The difficulty in Pilates is rarely about load. It is about coordination. Coordination should not be rushed for the sake of getting in more repetitions. Many Classes Look Like Pilates, But Aren’t Being Taught to Bodies This is where the disconnect becomes most visible. Exercises are demonstrated, copied and followed. Social media has taken the see and steal culture to new lengths! This leads to the body in front of the teacher is not being taught properly. Clients are becoming carbon copies of braod movements seen online and just simply being asked to replicate. There is a difference between cueing choreography and teaching movement. When classes focus primarily on what the exercise should look like, participants often compensate without realizing it. The neck grips during abdominal work. The hip flexors dominate leg movements. The lower back absorbs what the abdominals were meant to support. From the outside, everything appears correct. From the inside, the wrong muscles are doing the work. I know this to be true, because I have definitely performed Pilates.. and on an off day... I am sure I will unfortunately do this again. This has allowed me to really see though, that Pilates teaching requires observation. It requires adjusting range of motion, tempo, setup, and intention based on the individual body, not the idealized version of the exercise. Because the goal of Pilates is not uniform movement. It is intelligent movement. Real Pilates Feels Quieter, and More Demanding Neurologically One of the most surprising experiences for clients transitioning from performative classes to precise Pilates is how “quiet” it feels. There is less rushing and far less choreography for the sake of variety. Yet, thes classes often feels more challenging. Not because it is harder in the traditional fitness sense. But because it requires sustained mental engagement. You cannot mentally check out during precise Pilates. You are asked to notice: Where your ribs are How your pelvis is responding Whether your neck is assisting unnecessarily If your breath is supporting or disrupting the movement Which muscles are initiating versus compensating This level of awareness increases the neurological demand significantly. The brain is actively mapping movement rather than passively repeating it. That is why Pilates can feel deceptively demanding even when the exercises appear small or controlled. It is not about exhaustion. It is about organization. Gentle Is Often a Misinterpretation of Control When Pilates is described as gentle, it is usually because it lacks impact, heavy loading, or aggressive pacing. But low impact does not equal low intensity. Holding alignment under control. Moving without compensation and maintaining precision through fatigue. These are not gentle skills. They are refined skills. In fact, when Pilates is taught with true precision, many clients realize they have been overworking the wrong areas for years. Their hip flexors tire quickly. Their neck becomes aware. Their deep abdominals fatigue in ways they never noticed before. Not because the workout is harsher. But because it is finally specific. Specificity feels different than intensity. Why Precision Gets Skipped Skipping precision is rarely intentional. It is often the result of: Large class sizes Fast-paced programming Overemphasis on choreography Teacher insecurity around slowing things down The pressure to make classes feel “worth it” through visible effort Precision requires time. It requires observation. It requires confidence in subtlety. And subtle teaching can feel risky in a culture that equates visible sweat with value. But when precision is skipped, the method gradually becomes diluted. Exercises become shapes instead of tools. Cueing becomes generalized instead of specific. And the neurological depth of Pilates is replaced with surface-level movement. Teaching Pilates to Bodies, Not to Exercises One of the most important shifts a teacher can make is moving from teaching exercises to teaching bodies. An exercise is not the goal. It is the vehicle. Two people performing the same movement may need entirely different cueing, range, and pacing to achieve the intended outcome. Precision means recognizing that and adjusting in real time. It means allowing fewer repetitions with better execution. It means refining setup before adding progression. It means valuing stillness as much as movement. And perhaps most importantly, it means being willing to make the class feel quieter in order to make it more effective. Because when the body is truly learning, it does not need constant spectacle. It needs clarity. The Quiet Demanding Nature of True Pilates Clients who experience precise Pilates often describe it the same way: “It felt small, but I was working so hard.” “I had to concentrate the whole time.” “It was harder than it looked.” This is not accidental. When the nervous system is fully engaged, even controlled movements require significant effort. The demand shifts from gross muscular output to refined neuromuscular coordination. That is the part most people skip. And it is also the part that creates lasting change. Not bigger movements. Better ones. A Method That Rewards Thoughtfulness Pilates does not reward rushing. It does not reward performance. It does not reward spectacle. It rewards attention. It rewards consistency. It rewards intelligent progression. It rewards teachers who are willing to observe rather than simply lead. And in a fitness landscape that increasingly prioritizes how movement looks on camera, this quiet precision becomes even more valuable. Because bodies do not improve through performance. They improve through accurate, repeated, intentional movement. Reclaiming Precision in Modern Pilates Reclaiming precision does not mean making Pilates rigid or overly clinical. It means returning to its original intelligence. It means: Teaching fewer exercises more effectively Slowing down when needed Cueing for sensation, not just shape Observing compensation patterns Prioritizing neurological engagement over visual intensity When this happens, Pilates stops feeling “gentle” in the dismissive sense and starts feeling deeply effective. Subtle. Focused. Demanding in the way that truly organized movement always is. And that is where the real method lives. Not in performance. Not in speed. Not in how impressive it appears. But in the precision that most people overlook. Pilates doesn’t need to be harder.
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