We Tried Aqua Studio for a Week: Here’s What Happened

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Image via Complex Original
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By Cary Randolph Fuller

Arriving at Aqua Studio, one might assume she has accidentally entered Aire Ancient Baths, the hyper-chic bathhouse two doors down. Dark wood floors and stone countertops, the pervading scent of patchouli, and an eerily calm vibe fill the space. There are no TVs or machines, no branded workout gear, and absolutely no over-caffeinated yuppies chatting it up in their Lululemon. (The Lulu is here; it’s just not on display.) On my first visit, I check in, and a receptionist gives me a tour of the studio without ever leaving her chair: Down the stairs, change into swimsuit and rubber shoes (provided by Aqua; they cost two bucks a pair), hit the shower, and head to the pool. One class is wrapping up; the water ripples calmly in their wake as my class files in. With room for just 15 stationery bikes, the atmosphere is intimate, and the instructor chats with each of us in turn before encouraging us to greet our neighbors. She’s cheerful and fit with a good sense of humor about the whole thing. If I were she—about to lead a class of grown women through a series of exercises on a bike almost fully submerged in murky blue water—I’d already be in stitches.


"All you need at Aqua are a bike, water, your four limbs, and an earnest desire for a low-impact workout."

That’s the thing about Aqua, though. The concept may be slightly ridiculous, but nobody laughs (although no one looks miserable either). Throughout my week at the studio, I am constantly surprised by the relaxed and unpretentious personalities peddling next to me in the place Vogue magazine called a “chic French pied-a-terre.” On day one, a woman in her mid-twenties brings her mom, who struggles through the whole process but never stops smiling; after another class, a pair of friends snap a selfie in the pool. The music is loud and energetic, the exercises simple but powerful, and the scent more redolent of JV swim team than Soulcycle. In fact, none of this reminds me of more popular fitness trends sending my friends and colleagues into a sweaty frenzy these days. If Aqua Studio is, like its neighbor Aire Ancient Baths, a modern take on an old fogey practice, Aqua still manages to retain a little bit of its predecessor Aquacise’s charm. There are no hand weights, no Day-Glo stretchy bands, no medicine balls. No collaborations with fashion brands or celebrity DJs or diva behavior. All you need at Aqua are a bike, water, your four limbs, and an earnest desire for a low-impact workout.

As for the workout itself, once you get accustomed to the weirdness of pedaling underwater, you may feel, as I did, quite a good burn. The routine is akin to that at Flywheel and other group classes, in which each exercise lasts the length of one song. One minute you’re leaning back behind the bike doing a sloppy breaststroke to the sound of Michael Jackson’s “Dirty Diana,” and the next, you’re crouched low over your handlebars like an amphibious Lance Armstrong, sprinting to the finish line and lip-syncing Ariana Grande.

Playing in a pool is always physically taxing; I remember exhausting myself doing tricks and dives in the water when I was a kid. As an adult, unless you surf regularly and especially if you live in a city like New York, opportunities to splash around in a Speedo are few and far between. Aqua Studio didn’t feel so much like an intense workout, but for 45 hours I got to play in a pool and, yes, go home exhausted. If that’s not worth a trip downtown, then I don’t know what is.

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Cary Randolph Fuller is a writer and finisher of seven marathons and one 50-mile ultramarathon. She lives in New York City—and in her Nike LunarElite Sky Hi sneakers.

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