In an effort to reshape my body to look exactly like Jennifer Aniston’s, I’ve taken up Pilates. (Yes, I know…how very Gwyneth of me.) For those of you who aren’t familiar with Pilates, it’s basically like yoga…except instead of seeing tight-clothed women doing poses on the floor, you see them being stretched and contorted while attached to machines resembling medievil torture devices. That, in a nutshell, is Pilates.
So I was in class last week, trying to follow my instructor’s orders of “focusing on my core, breathing smoothly, and maintaining a neutral spine.” This while attempting to uphold some sense of dignity as I winced through one uncomfortable position to the next. Let’s just say it was not going well.
“If sixty-five year old Patrick Swayze can do this, then so can I, goddamnit!” I was thinking to myself when we started the final series of advanced poses. I looked over and saw the three other women in my class moving effortlessly, their limbs gracefully extended. I, on the other hand, looked like a bull in a china shop: beads of sweat running down my temples, face red with exersion. And then it happened – a snap, crackle and finally a pop in my lower back.
“Motherf*cker!”
And then there was silence. Heads turned. Mouths gaped. Had I just yelled a vulgar obscenity in a place where you have to take your shoes off at the door to respect the space’s zen-like quality?? Shit, I had.
And so goes my Pilates adventures and my quest to have Jennifer Aniston’s taut triceps. I have a feeling I might be banished to the Pilates timeout corner tonight for not using my words.
1 Comment
April 23, 2007 at 1:37 pm
attagirl.