I was sweating. And I hadn’t even walked into the gym yet.
Today, was the day. The exercise revolution. After logging serious hours watching P90X and Zumba infomercials – which must radiate some kind of addictive chemical because I can’t turn them off – I finally got the motivation to try a new exercise. I too, could be a “before and after”! (Well, with a lot of self tanner and airbrushing) After looking at the list of classes at the gym, I picked Fitness Pilates.
Fitness= the condition of being physically fit. That’s a good start.
Pilates= system of exercises designed to improve strength, flexibility and posture. And make your body cry with pain.
I seemed to miss the second part of the definition. As I was getting ready for the gym, I suddenly felt like I was prepping for my first day in 9th grade. What should I wear? Will people laugh at me? Who will I talk to? Should I have gotten this home perm?
Zap back to the present (shuddering at the memory of my perm) I walked into Pilates class wearing my best Target fitness wear. The class was crowded and I immediately scoped out a corner to hide in. I quickly walked past a woman built like Jennifer Aniston. Complete with belly baring work out attire. Well, she didn’t have three kids, I say to myself, staring at her perfect abs.
“I put all three kids in camp this week,” I overheard her tell a friend.
Sigh. I have no excuse. I darted to the far side of the room to stand in a corner. I saw everyone had mats, so I grabbed a mat too. I glanced at the woman in front of me, and noticed she had a weighted bar.
“Excuse me, do we need a bar too?” I asked, looking for a little encouraging conversation.
She turned and looked at me and said, “I don’t know.”
Um. She had one.
“Oh, are you new to this class too?” I asked helpfully.
“No,” she said. And turned around. Justlikethat. 9th grade. All over again.
Our teacher was a perky gal with abs o’ steel and unlimited stream of husky fitness leader conversation. And she wasted no time hollering for us to squat, squeeze, lift, pull and contort our bodies to optimal Pilates fitness.
15 minutes in: “I can do this!” I say to myself, envisioning new skinny jeans.
20 minutes: “I am going to die”
25 minutes: “I’m already dead”
35 minutes: “Wait a minute, still alive – I may beat it yet!”
42 minutes: “My exercise mat stinks.”
43 minutes: “Oh God, I think I stink.”
50 minutes: “I’m never, ever coming back.”
1 hour: “It’s over? ITS OVER!!”
I staggered out of class, sweaty and searching for ibuprofen to squelch the soon to be screaming pain in my abs. But like the first day of freshman year, I survived. And I know the lady in front of me is not friendly, and to never work out next to the skinny mother of 3. I’ll be back.
Just don’t expect to see me sporting a perm.