10 Unconventional Summer Workouts to Break the Yoga Monotony, Reviewed

Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a California girl who grew up going to the beach and doesn’t know how to surf? Would you also believe me if I told you that my first-ever surf lesson happened not in the icy waters of the Pacific on a 75-and-sunny day, but indoors, up four flights of stairs in the East Village?

Perhaps I took the summer-ing assignment too literally, but if the temperature’s right and the watermelon’s ripe, it might be worth dipping your toes in the ocean—or at least, simulating an experience like that. If an actual body of water is unavailable to you, I would suggest Surfset. The concept is delightfully kitschy: Learn to surf on a surfboard affixed to medicine balls in the middle of a concrete jungle, naturally working up a sweat in the process.

Here, the workout is somewhat beside the point. The mechanics of surfing and swimming will inherently tire you out, so rather than focusing on the banality of excessive reps, you can instead focus all your might on standing up on that wobbly surfboard and having some fun, goddamnit. The session I attended was for absolute beginners, and while some of my classmates had a couple of classes under their belts, we together flailed like hatchlings, giggled at ourselves, and fell off the board constantly. But by class’ end, and to the credit of our patient instructor, every single one of us was popping up on it like a Venice Beach groupie with a henna tramp stamp, and I was thrilled to find a genuine entryway to a new hobby and a caring community. Surf’s up in the city, baby!

“Hi, I’m Emily, I go by she/her pronouns, and I’m here to get back in touch with my body, because I guess I lost touch with it over the last few years, and I’m not even really sure how that happened, but I thought this might be the right place to remind myself what it feels like to be in this body, my body, with all of its desires and insecurities and cravings and whatnot. So, yeah, excited to be here.”

That is how I introduced myself to a room full of strangers at a pole dancing class at 10 in the morning on a Friday in Bushwick. I’d been asked to introduce myself to the group, all gathered for an introduction to the art of pole at a studio called Everybody’s Nimble, and state one thing I’d like to get out of the experience. “Learn to climb the pole” or “improve my body rolls” would have sufficed. Instead, an accidental soliloquy.

While the idea of pole dancing might evoke visions of clunky stripper heels studded with gems and underground bars lit by blinking neon signs, this particular studio in Brooklyn marks a visual departure from the art form’s nightlife origins. Students are greeted by an airy room with high ceilings and inviting windows. The class was packed mostly with femmes, but people of other gender identities had gathered there, too, and the aura was playful and experimental. Together, we’d all attempt to get acquainted with the idea of performing our sexuality, touching our bodies, our hair, our necks, and using the pole as a conduit for all of those things. (Of course, pole dancing is an art form founded and perfected largely by women, femmes, and trans folks of color, and the fact that giggling groups of white women can now add “pole class” as a variety item to their bachelorette itineraries without experiencing any of the actual stigma of sex work is a privilege that bears repeating.)

Reestablishing a severed connection with my body as a sexual entity was far too lofty a goal for just one class, but pole is particularly magical in its ability to remind you of the power of touch, and the sheer strength of our limbs in just a few seconds. “Skin is king!” instructors will tell you. Stripping down to minimal clothing is, for some, an aesthetic choice—a way to let your body breathe—but it’s also a mechanical one. Skin is the thing that allows you to stick to the pole, your biceps propelling you upwards. You don’t have to bare all, but you do have to bare some in order to reap rewards. You’ll be left with bruises, like little trophies marking your efforts, and you will sweat, quiver, and struggle. It’s a beautiful thing, really, that you must see and accept and own your body the way it is before you even muster the courage to hoist yourself up the pole. But you will do it, and eventually, the kinks will smooth and the awkwardness will evaporate. And you will see that you don’t have to have sex to be sex.

Ever dreamed of being a circus performer or envisioned yourself soaring out over an audience, secured only by some fabric hanging from the ceiling? No? Well, I’ve got a recommendation for you anyway.

Regardless of your skill level or fear of heights, I think most everyone should try at least one hammock class in their lifetime. The discipline makes use of a loop of fabric that is (safely!) rigged to the ceiling, in which hobbyists and pros alike can wrap their bodies and contort into angelic shapes. Even though most beginning tricks and combos are learned inches from the ground, the amount of upper body strength required for any type of aerial artform is humbling. It’s also a fun snub to the Tracey Andersons of the world who believe women should never get too bulky up top (this is a swole-friendly website, obviously).

At Aerial Arts here in New York, a well-seasoned instructor led an intimate group of four students, and when I tell you I would’ve trusted that woman with my life—well, I did, actually. Aerial can be a bit disorienting at first due to the amount of time you’re spending upside down, as well as getting familiar with grips and the way the fabric settles into your folds and creases. But in a class like this, people you met just 30 minutes prior are suddenly cheering you on like a group of preschoolers watching over the class jungle gym enthusiast. It’s the sort of dynamic that breeds a real feeling of community. Those motivated by vanity alone won’t have a good time in a class like this: There are no mirrors, and matching cropped sets are useless here, given that your legs and torso should be covered to ensure the fabric doesn’t burn your skin. Hammock is gritty and tough, but the bottom line here is pure fun, as if you’re getting to spend time hanging upside down and goofin’ around on the monkey bars again.

In my research for out-of-the-box workout ideas, I stumbled across a class called Pound Fit that appeared to make use of drumsticks. Each member of the class was given a yoga mat and a pair of lime green drumsticks before taking our spots on the floor. An instructor with boundless energy and positive affirmations quickly briefed us, and then...how do I put this…we began to rock out.

Though this was more blatantly a workout than some of the other entries on this list (squats, lunges, crunches, and the likes), I was shocked at how satisfying pounding sticks on the floor with other adults could be, especially when the cacophony might just disturb the 24-year old dudes pumping iron one door over. It felt like throwing a glorious, decades-overdue tantrum, and I loved that onlookers couldn’t help but peep their heads in to see what all the ruckus was about.

Despite having to endure some cringey girl-boss phrases like “find your inner rockstar,” I found the experience to be uncomfortable in the most perfect way. I can count on one hand the number of workout classes that ask you to get loud and actually mean it (outside of a mid-cycling “WOO!”). Sure, a class like Pound Fit can be labeled as gimmicky. But the thing about gimmicks is that they always offer a damn good time—and god forbid you actually have fun in an exercise class.

Oh man, they don’t call this beloved Brooklyn institution a “zoo” for no reason. Walking into this colorful parkour gym is like strolling into a kid’s kaleidoscopic dream. A true feast for the eyes, in one corner members are throwing parkour tricks off the wall, while some are breakdancing and others are tumbling their way across mats, rollers, and spring floors. There’s a real liveliness to the place, which cannot be said of all (if any) centers of physical fitness. Disneyland for active adults, if you will.

I opted to try out the open level 90-minute tumbling class for all ages and was pleased to find that my classmates were, in fact, of all ages and all abilities. A spunky kid who must’ve been in his pre-teens was working on intricate twists and flips, while a middle-aged person was learning a back handspring for the first time. I, meanwhile, was attempting a no-handed cartwheel, which I hadn’t pulled off since I was 12. Despite the various comfort levels, the class truly is intended for absolute beginners, too: Each class member took turns working hands-on (with consent) and one-on-one with our instructor, who made me feel entirely safe and supported for the duration.

Muscles that had sat dormant and neglected in my day-to-day life and office job suddenly jolted back to life. I was huffing and puffing by the end of the session, but all of that effort was spent building up to something tangible: a trick that is fun for me, regardless of whether it alters the physical appearance of my body or not. A class like this can remind you just how much your body is capable of, including flipping through the air, which is, in my opinion, the closest you can get to flying.

OK, I take it back: This is the closest you can get to flying (outside of base jumping and bungee jumping and skydiving, etc). Outside of that period between 2020 and 2023 when I feared for my life for political, reproductive, and pandemic-related reasons, this is the most terrified I’ve been in ages. Trapeze looks like it’s all fun and games—surely you’ve seen folks swinging gleefully along the West Side Highway—until you’re climbing up a ladder and the climb just keeps going, and going, and going. Like Miley Cyrus once said, “I can almost see it…”

In this introductory class, the group of people new to trapeze included myself, two middle-aged men, and five kids under the age of 12. I wanted to scream at them and tell them how lucky they are to be young and not all gripped and frozen by fear like me, but I did not (for obvious reasons). Aside from grip strength, solid arms, and shoulders, trapeze also requires rock-hard core strength to hold your body in a banana-shaped position, which helps to ease your body through the air and ensure you don’t injure yourself. But all of that goes out the window, at least consciously, the moment you’re instructed to jump off a platform holding nothing but a giant swinging bar—safely clipped into a harness and being supported by a professional and a safety net. Still, in that moment, I was flying.

Trimbur, a professional dancer and choreographer, started teaching stress-free dance classes titled “Thirteen” and “Balletcore” to offset the stuffy environments offered by major studios and populated by dancers who insist they’re really not that good, only to strut around in the front of the class and whip out a casual quadruple turn. As she puts it, “Dance classes can be intimidating. You show up and it’s like, ‘5,6,7,8, go go go,’ and like, Beyoncé’s backup dancer is in the class on a day off doing it all so fast and you feel like, ‘Well I can’t do that.’”

Instead, Trimbur teaches classes founded on silliness—an ironic subversion of strictly focused ballet classes of yore. While gently mocking its source material, Trimbur’s attitude towards her low-stakes choreography is totally earnest and pure, with a true beginner mentality. Looking dumb and giggling at yourself is the point: Flail your limbs, roll on the floor, bang your fists, let go! And maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll catch the duos class in which we lip-synced and interpretive danced to “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence. It was so emo and cool—like, extremely Hot Topic of us.

Don’t be fooled by the slow pace: Belly dancing is not for the faint of heart. But at training schools like Belly Queen, beginners can try their hips at a movement style so sultry and intricate it feels divine. Taught by certified practitioners in a loving atmosphere, the class made me unlearn many of the basic principles other forms of exercise demand. Where everything elsewhere is squeezed and tucked and tightened, belly dancing is intentionally loose—or at least, should appear that way. The core remains tight, back upright, but the entire backside of your lower body must remain relaxed for that liquid quality of movement, and the more jiggle you can extract, the better. It runs contrary to everything I’ve been taught in barre and pilates classes and attracts a community of people who aren’t interested in hiding or shrinking themselves. It feels like real body love, and there’s plenty to go around.

Hmm, feels like you could work up a solid sweat joining your local entertainment and media industry workers in solidarity on the picket line and demanding Bob Iger and his goons pay writers and actors a working wag, no? Sweaty time well spent.

I’m sorry, I had to. Moving along.

Each season, New York’s Ballet Hispánico offers a full program of adult classes ranging from zumba and beginner salsa to beginner ballet, flamenco, and hip-hop. As a former athlete and dancer, my body has racked up far too many chronic aches and pains stemming from forced technique without proper care, so I tried out a BH-offered class that sounded like it might heal some of my existing ailments while also strengthening opposing muscles for future injury prevention.

The classes are hosted in the same facility that Ballet Hispánico’s professional company rehearses in, which is enchanting in its own right. But Victoria Vargas’ open-level ballet fitness class presented a warm and caring environment in which individuals of all abilities and levels go through a barre experience while laying on their back or side. Vargas’ 5th Position Method pushes students to focus on individual muscle groups, enabling you to understand what parts of the body should be engaged while properly executing any given ballet step. Sometimes, starting over is the best way to move forward, she tells me, while nudging me to tilt my head upwards so that I’m not blocking my airways. “It’s like when you’re a baby. You take your first breath, you cry, you move. Same in ballet, you breathe, you move.” Perfect.