Lean, Mean Pilates Machine

I have never bought anything off of an infomerical, but the closest that I have come is one time in high school when I watched a pitch for a little exercise machine called the Pilates Performer. After three hours of watching a very trim girl demonstrating how easy it was to exercise on and store underneath a bed, and hearing many testimonials about how frumpy chip-eaters attained ballerina bodies WITHOUT SWEATING, I was ready to shell out the three hundred dollars plus shipping and handling to get myself one. Unfortunately, I was with my mom, and although she was equally impressed, she said that my dad might never forgive us. Maybe if we had showed faithfulness in using the Body by Jake machine that was already in the garage, we would have a better argument. As it was, we had exhibited more of a love for the idea of exercising than for the actual activity itself.

I've stayed interested in the idea of Pilates ever since then, particularly because it is an exercise program that does not involve sweating, which is one of the huge deterrents that keeps me from more traditional forms of activity. I also like the fact that almost all of the exercising is done while laying down on a cushioned mat, which evokes happy memories of nap time at Mother's Day Out. The non-prone exercises are done on a bouncy ball, which is also fun. I could have taken Pilates classes at the Aggie Rec, to which I paid exorbitant fees each semester, but I didn't, and I have regretted it ever since.

So I was pretty excited when my friend KarenD proposed the idea of taking a Pilates class together at one of the billion workout facilities in town. I have been looking for some way to trim up a little bit, as you know if you read this blog regularly. So far I have really enjoyed taking a trip to Academy to buy some cute and comfortable workout pants, and the class itself has turned out to be pretty nice. I have gone two times.

The class has been surprisingly difficult, even though it is true about the laying down and sitting on a bouncy ball. This class has forced me to confront (and display for others) my embarassing inflexiblity and also my frequent confusion with "right" and "left." I have also awakened many muscles that have long lay dormant, and they have angrily protested over the last week. But burning pains must mean that the exercise is working, and I am sure that I can tell a difference already. So the next time you see my husband, don't worry, he's not sneaking around town with a tall and willowy ballerina. It's just me.