For the past month I’ve been taking bi-weekly Pilates Reformer classes at a local Pilates studio. A friend had suggested that I “try something new” after the wedding celebrations were over in order to fill the void in my life that had been occupied with wedding planning and general bridal preening. I was torn between Pilates and worm composting (really). I picked Pilates.
Not long ago I would have said that I picked Pilates because I want a body like Madonna, but have you seen her lately? She looks like all of her flesh has been replaced with beef jerky. Definately not a good spokesperson for Pilates, though she is rumored to do it for 4 hours a day in addition to grueling weight-lifting and running regimes and a diet that consists of buffalo meat, melon, and parsley.
A better Pilates advertisement would be Lena, my Monday night instructor, a vision of lean muscle and perfect posture. She presides over the room of 10 white women whose median age probably crests 40, each cavorting atop of a Reformer in tune to Lena’s commands: Lay down, sit up, adjust the tension, turn around, grab the straps, bend your knees, tuck your belly, raise your head, drop your elbows, push, pull, press, pump, flex, inhale, exhale.
Despite going through a 50-minute introductory class which unveiled the mysteries of the Reformer, I do nothing right. Lena is constantly whooshing past me to nudge my back or widen my feet. Saving me from total embarrasment is the realization that many of the other students aren’t even following Lena’s instruction. One woman just lays on her Reformer, moving the carriage slowly back and forth with her legs. Another woman takes frequent breaks to strech out her back in child pose.
The magic behind the Pilates Reformer is that the abdominals are constantly being worked through second-hand engagement, so even when you’re doing chest flys, you’re toning your waist. And then there are a host of exercises that focus exclusively on the abdominal muscles, such as the infamous Hundred, the Roll Up, and Criss Cross. Since my abs are as weak as a newborn kitten, I falter halfway through each count, my core burning. I already feared the soreness of my stomach muscles the next morning.
Lo and behold I awoke Tuesday morning with nary a hint of abdominal reprisal. I was a surprised at my resilience considering the last time I did a crunch was 5 years ago, but attributed it to my overall physical condition. Then, this morning: I woke up feeling as if I had been punched repeatedly in the stomach. I quickly realized that I had killed my abs so bad that the onset of muscle soreness had been delayed an entire day. Suddenly I understand why the word “Reformer” has a sinister tone.
