It’s Friday, March 27, 10 a.m., and when Sarah Burgin Hanks gets on the call, I ask the only question that feels right: did you prance this morning?
“Of course.”
It feels like the only possible answer.
She is still dressed for it too: pink unitard, lace leggings, bright pink leg warmers, headband, the whole glorious neon logic of it all. Not costume, exactly. More like commitment. The kind that says joy is not an afterthought. It is the plan.
That is what stayed with me most from our conversation. Fridays We Prance may look playful from the outside, and it is, but beneath the neon and pop playlists is something many women+ are hungry for: a place to move, laugh, be seen, and feel fully alive in public.
Sarah describes prance simply: it is “not a run, not a jog, not a walk. It’s a forward dance.”
I loved that immediately.
A forward dance feels like exactly the right phrase for this season of womanhood, especially for those of us raising kids, holding families together, working, caregiving, and trying, somewhere in the middle of all that, to remain ourselves. Not a sprint. Not a graceful glide. A forward dance.
What began in Washington, D.C. started with Sarah already doing it on her own. A violinist and lifelong creative, she had gotten into the habit of dancing from her house to the Capitol and back. She is not especially interested in pretending exercise has to look serious to count. She told me she is not really a runner, but she will absolutely dance.
So she did. She danced around the park. She danced to the Capitol. She posted bits of it on Instagram. Friends noticed. Her dad did too, and at one point he said maybe she could get her girlfriends to do it with her.
That is how the first prance came together.
Six friends. A shared playlist. A Friday morning. Sarah, fully committed to the vibe, went thrifting for neon sweaters and cut off the arms to make leg warmers because she was not about to order a bunch of synthetic costume pieces online. Of course the movement began with creativity, color, and making it work with what she could find.
After that first morning, one of the women said, “So, Fridays we prance.”
And that was it.
Now what started as six women in neon has grown into a real community. Women+ show up early every Friday morning, year-round, rain or shine, to prance a little over two miles together. There is music, cardio, silliness, and real commitment. There are recent grads, mothers, grandmothers, women in demanding careers, women in major life transitions, and women simply looking for one place where they do not have to explain themselves first.
Because the more Sarah spoke, the clearer it became that this is not just about fitness. It is about what happens when women+ gather without apology.
She talked about the professionals who show up before work, doctors, lawyers, politicians, women with highly visible and highly serious lives, and how for one hour they get to drop the mask. They dance in the street. They stop worrying about whether they look ridiculous. They let delight take up space where composure usually lives.
There is something powerful in that, especially in public.
Women move through public space every day, of course, but public joy still lands differently on women’s bodies. Bright, loud, sweaty, goofy, fully visible joy can still be read as too much. Fridays We Prance rejects that whole framework. It asks something better: what if women+ did not have to earn joy by being efficient first?
That question feels bigger than dance.
At one point, Sarah talked about how women spend so much time taking care of everyone else that we lose touch with our own childlike joy. Prance, in some ways, becomes a chance to find it again. To tap back into the version of yourself that moved because it felt good, wore color because it made you happy, and danced because music was on and your body answered.
And then there is what this community has become off the sidewalk.
As we talked, Sarah shared story after story of the way these women+ show up for one another. They have raised money for a member going through breast cancer treatment. They signed up to sit with her during chemo when she needed childcare support and family was not nearby. They throw baby showers. They celebrate hard-won fresh starts. They show up at school events for each other. They gather for coffee after prance and, over time, become not just workout companions but part of one another’s real lives.
That is the piece that lands hardest.
Because yes, the dancing is joyful. Yes, the neon is fun. But underneath all of it is a village. Not a hypothetical one. A real one. Built week by week by women+ choosing to show up while life is still messy, while the world still feels heavy, while work and caregiving and grief do not politely wait their turn.
They prance anyway.
That may be the lesson here. Joy does not arrive only after life calms down. Community does not appear only once everything is manageable. Sometimes we build both in motion. Before breakfast. In neon. In a park. With other women+ who understand more than we have to say out loud.
That is why the arrival of Fridays We Prance in New York City feels like more than a new fitness option. It feels like an invitation.
Not to get it right. Not to dance beautifully. Just to come as you are, maybe a little nervous, maybe a little self-conscious, and see what happens when you let yourself try.
Maybe the point is not whether you already know how to prance.
Maybe the point is finding out.
Join Sarah and NYC chapter leader Stephanie Mitchell of Morning Meeting, Let’s Go Moms! for the inaugural prance this Friday, April 3, at 6:30 a.m. in Central Park, meeting at 96th Street and Central Park West. Wear neon and come ready to prance your way into the weekend.
See you there?
Because good stuff really shouldn’t sit in a closet.
The Parent Loop