Are the New Extreme Exercise Classes Healthy—Or Harmful?

I show up at Flex Studios in New York City’s Union Square feeling vastly unprepared, and confide in the check-in attendant, a Disney princess with flaxen hair and bright brown eyes. “Have you ever done this before?” I ask. She nods. “Once. I’ve never been so proud of myself.”

This answer is what I imagine most people would want to hear. It provides me little comfort, though.

Flex Studios offers 55-minute-long TRX, barre, and Pilates classes. Once a week, however, it holds a 90-minute session for those overachievers looking for more than a mere hour of fitness. Flex90, as this class is called, is divided into three half-hour-long acts: TRX, barre, and Pilates. Students brave enough to sign up, as I am soon to discover, receive no special dispensation—no extended stretching sessions, no water breaks between sections.

Instead, the instructor, Jess Osborne, guides us through squats, forearm planks, lunges, plunges, and reformer madness with an energy befitting a former Radio City Rockette (she’s now an aerialist). Wearing a 2015 TCS NYC Marathon Finisher T-shirt, she directs us with unflagging enthusiasm and hawkeyed attention. The only time Osborne falters is when we are all hinged forward, our left legs thrust back, doing our best to hold an arabesque for what feels like five minutes. “You can do it,” she tells us. “This is your hour . . . and a half. I guess I can’t use that line here.”

I have started off determined, and midway through, I remain game. At least I try. One of my fellow extreme exercisers is moving through the weightlifting portion with her eyes shut and teeth clenched. The series of 3-pound-dumbbell rotations are too much for the lone man in the class, who stops moving and makes the face of a baby who has just tasted a lemon for the first time. As for me, I end up so sweaty I rip off my T-shirt to reveal a not-intended-for-public sports bra, on what is the coldest day of the year yet.

Given the popularity of recreational triathlons and obstacle-course races, the rise of extreme exercise classes makes a certain sense. Lasting between 90 minutes and two hours, they typically occur on weekends, when exercisers have the time. Unlike the special workshops one sees advertised on yoga studio bulletin boards—sessions focused on, say, spinal alignment or opening your heart chakras—these supersonic classes are geared toward clients who want extra calories burned, and bragging rights. As is the case with any extreme physical activity, though, supersize classes can tap into compulsive tendencies, as well as present physical risks, according to Claudette Lajam, M.D., orthopedic surgeon at NYU Langone Medical Center. “I’m a CrossFitter and I used to race bicycles, so I understand the desire to do something hellish and intense, but generally speaking, shorter workouts several times a week are better than one extreme session on the weekend,” she says. Her advice to those determined: Stay hydrated, consult with a doctor about daily caloric intake (especially if one is following a restrictive diet such as veganism), and pay attention to your body for any signs of pain or discomfort. “Exercise shouldn’t hurt; it shouldn’t make you sick,” she says. “Think of it this way: If you injure yourself, you’re losing months of exercise.”

Still, the demand for high-octane sessions is only growing. SoulCycle has started offering double-length SoulChallenge classes. Equinox has a two-hour cycling class at its Columbus Circle location. And Y7 Studio, a studio known for its sweaty, high-intensity, hip-hop-fueled yoga classes, has since September been expanding its program of two-hour-long minute “workshops” on Saturdays and Sundays. “We had people asking for something a little more intense,” says Sarah Larson, the studio’s cofounder. “It’s a harder workout. They are not breathing-based; it’s about really sweating and deepening your practice.”

I wouldn’t say I deepened my practice so much as blew it to pieces on a recent Saturday afternoon. The class was billed as Mega Detox, and I’d half-hoped there would be an emphasis on breath work and seated meditations. Instead, once again I found myself in nothing but a jogging bra (this time I needed to repurpose my T-shirt into a washcloth), immersed in the sweatiest athletic experience of my life. Barely 20 minutes in, I was out of breath as I jumped through sun salutations to Nelly Furtado. From there, our teacher, Stephanie LaSpina, kept our heart rates aloft, instructing us through all manner of twists, folds, and boat pose holds. At last, after an interminable session of bringing our knees to alternating elbows in forearm plank, she told us we were allowed to take a chaturanga. Who knew a push-up could come as a relief?

I exited the studio jelly-kneed, light-headed, and insanely pleased with myself, only to overhear LaSpina ask one of my classmates, “Two in one day?”

The girl looked embarrassed. “I’m going to Jamaica tomorrow,” she replied. “I won’t have to work out for a week.”

Somehow, I doubt it.

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