Mrs. Woog goes to Pilates

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Do you want to know why it took me fifteen minutes to visit the latrine this morning? Do you really want to know?

Pilates. Fucking Pilates.

Pilates was invented in the early 20th Century by Joseph Pilates, who believed that his exercises would strengthen the mind as well as the body. It is currently believed that Pilates would help prevent elderly people from falling over, or 40 something women to experience excruciating pain the day after performing it.

Yesterday I joined Mum and a dozen other women in the local School of the Arts to get my Pilates on. Having outed myself as a Pilates virgin, the instructor asked whether I had any injuries (Not yet Jenny…. NOT YET!) and I took my place next to Mum. We were both wearing matching t-shirts. VOTE 1 CHRISTINE PAINE, blared out from our as yet not heaving bosoms, which has nothing to do with the story, but was just an interesting fact.

I had agreed to go to Pilates with Mum as she had been going for a few years and had called it her “Stretchy” class and in my head that meant a very soothing experience.

FACT. Pilates is not soothing and I was about to learn this the hard way. Things began well. A little stretchy here, a little stretchy there. Flip over, reach out, round hands, lift your ass high into the sky, giggle at an escaped fart (not me thank GOD) and then PULSE PULSE PULSE PULSE feet in an elastic band until the blood drains from your heart and your feet are on fire. The other ladies, all older than yours truly, started panting like they were ten centimetres dilated and me, well I just gasped for air like I had submerged from the deep blue sea. And then Jenny would say those words that I hate with my entire being…

“Ok, let’s do that whole set again!”

What. A. Callous. Person. Mean. Unforgiving.

I would like to say that those sixty minutes flew by, but indeed, they move like a slug who had drunk a bottle of gin. I learnt a few things about myself though. I am very, very not bendy. Like, not a bit. I was put to shame by a group of women an entire generation older than me. Jenny’s mouth ran like a Ferrari, with non stop instructions to keep moving and PULSE PULSE PULSE, speaking of which, my pulse was running like a Ferrari, an overheated one. With no oil and no petrol.

And today my ribs hurt. My legs hurt, My butt cheeks feel like someone is poking them with red-hot needles and to be honest, I feel a little broken.

I hear Yoga is good? Thoughts?

Pilates? Do you dig it?

PULSE PULSE PULSE PULSE!