Pilates

In my continuing effort to mold my Cheez Whiz mid-section into gouda, I've started going to a pilates class at the gym. It's a class for beginnners. The instructor assured us that after we finished her class, we'd be able to go into any other pilates class that the gym offered. The key was to finish the class. The class turned out to be 55 of the longest minutes of my life.

Unlike yoga, pilates is all about the floor. Lying on your back, lying on your stomach, lying on your side. You get the picture. To complete the picture, add kicking your arms and legs in all different directions, "never losing control" as the instructor reminded us. There were several points where I was literally flopping around like a fish out of water. The fact that I couldn't breathe just added to the image.

Early on, we worked ourselves into some sort of squat and from somewhere in the room came the unmistakable sound of compressed air being released. I assure you that I did not smell it, and I did not deal it. But the sound hung there in the air for quite a while. I think we all deserve a huge pat on the back for not laughing. Not even a snicker. Perhaps it was because none of us could breathe. Or perhaps we were all thinking, "There but for the grace of God..."

I made it through that first class and lived to tell about it. My mid-section felt fine for the rest of that day and all through the next. Two days after the class, I sneezed and my stomach muscles screamed in pain. I believe I said, "But it's been 2 days! I don't understand!" The discomfort persisted throughout the morning, but eventually went away in time for me to go to my second pilates class.

This one was much the same as the first. I recognized a couple of return students, folks like me who were too proud (stupid) to stay away. The room filled up and we all assumed our positions on our backs. About halfway through the class, amidst the audible grunts and groans from some people behind me, I thought, "This has got to be one of the strangest things I've ever done as an adult. Walk into a room full of strangers, take off my shoes and socks, spread out on a mat on the floor, kick my arms and legs from side to side, and roll around like a ball." I decided not to think about it, for fear that I would get caught up in the absurdity of trying to rock back onto my shoulders while holding my ankles and start giggling uncontrollably. I've learned that it's easy to rock back, it's the coming up that's hard. Several times, I've gotten stuck just rocking back and forth, like a turtle on its shell. It's not as embarrassing as releasing compressed air, but it's pretty close.

So, I've survived a second class. I'm not sure if I'm brave enough to graduate beyond the beginner's class. We'll see next week.