Things I Dream of Hearing After Starting Classes at a Fancy Pilates Studio
“Your effort in this pilates class is commendable.”
As we lie down for the warm up:
“Alright, ladies, remember it doesn’t matter what your body looks like or what clothes you’re wearing, this class is all about attaining your personal health goals.” -the instructor.
“Shoot, I wish I had known that. Now I feel silly to be in the same outfit as everyone, except that exotic woman in the Smithsonian Zoo shirt.” -the other women in my Pilates class.
On the Reformer (a terrifying name for a terrifying exercise machine):
“That is a perfectly acceptable volume and frequency of grunts for the effort required in a Pilates class. In fact, you should all be grunting like Ruth. Louder!” -the instructor.
“Now that’s what I call thoracic mobility. You could join a more advanced class.” -the owner of the studio as she sees me in action.
Now onto the Cadillac (who named these machines?):
“I noticed you left crotch sweat on the Reformer. That is gross. You are gross. You are the only one who sweats from their crotch.” -no one in my Pilates class.
“There is no need for me to remind you that I gave birth to three children so my core muscles are 50% more stretched out than yours because everyone is different and this is not a competition.” -Veronica, the woman with three children in my Pilates class. Did I mention she has three children?
On the mat for some mat work (that one actually makes sense):
“That’s right; this is not a competition and ‘Corkscrew’ is challeng- Woah! Look at Ruth! You clearly have been working at that for so long and thanks to persistence (and a lot of healthy grunting) you finally did it. Now everyone, give Ruth a round of applause. The rest of you, meet yourself where you’re at.” -the instructor as I nail the ‘Corkscrew’ exercise.
“The amount of visible effort and adorable sweat (only from your forehead, never from your bottom) you exude is so admirable, we’re naming a machine after you.” -the ghost of Joseph Pilates who came back to audit a class.
“I can’t believe you had a child three years ago and you’re already able to do a full sit up.” -Veronica, still being supportive and non-competitive.
In the Pilates studio lobby:
“Thank you for telling me my entire abdomen is showing. I had no idea. Had I realized that before, I would have worn a more sensible shirt like you did. The Smithsonian Zoo- how cool!” -the woman behind the front desk.
In the parking lot:
“Hey there, I couldn’t help but hear you grunting earlier. We’d like to invite you to stand in a circle with us and talk about how Merrin’s neighbor is thinking about buying a Rivian.” -the three beautiful women who congregate outside the studio after every class to discuss trivial matters in a stage whisper.
“You really enriched our banal chit chat by regurgitating that article you skimmed in The Economist about Rivian’s IPO three years ago. You’re a permanent member of our group. Let’s meet up later today after our afternoon Pilates class.” -the same three beautiful women. I guess I do Pilates twice a day now.
When I return home from Pilates class:
“$80 is reasonable for a 50-minute exercise class considering you spend 70% of it lying down and the other 30% talking to the instructor about her high protein, high fiber, science-backed diet.” -my spouse.
At Thanksgiving, as I eat my fourth bowl of stuffing:
“You’ve been doing Pilates? Maybe I should do Pilates.” -my older sister.
