A few weeks ago, my younger sister invited me to join her on the living room floor for a run-through of her favorite Pilates workout DVD. Like a fool, I agreed.

Twenty minutes later, I sprawled on the carpet, panting and dumbfounded. Onscreen, the smiling young instructor reclined on her mat, lifted mile-long legs to the heavens, folded them down over her head, and dropped her feet to brush the mat above her wavy black ponytail.

Oh, how I hated her.

This wasn’t my first encounter with the set of muscle-quaking moves called Pilates. It’s an exercise paradigm unto itself, like yoga or kickboxing; it’s up there in popularity with fitness fads like Zumba and Spinning (which, to my disappointment, involves no twirling around in circles). My mom teaches an aerobics class for older adults, and a few years ago, she added a Pilates segment to the end of her routines.

So, no, not all Pilates moves are soul-crushingly difficult. But they’re stealthy—even the simplest position can turn evil. Take the Earthquake: just sit on the floor, legs and arms straight out in front, and lean back. That’s it—just lean back. Oh, and hold it for a few minutes. Not dying yet? Lean back a little farther. There you go.

Pilates is a cousin of yoga; it’s a set of movements meant to increase flexibility, strength, and endurance by making the body contend with the weight and balance of its own pieces (translate that as equipment-free. Yes!). Think: planks, crunches, leg lifts, fancy push-ups. The medium was invented back in the early 1900s when ol’ Joe Pilates (seriously) stirred together his martial arts, yoga, and gymnastics training and created something fresh. While working at an English infirmary during WWI, he rigged up a hospital bed with some extra springs to create an apparatus for resistance exercises. After the war, he moved to New York and started getting dancers hooked on his routines. These days, Pilates has absorbed the chic, at-one-with-the-universe appeal of yoga and tai chi. Pilates blogs, YouTube channels, and real-life classes abound.

Now, you might be thinking, here’s another fitness nut gearing up to write glib posts about the joys of physical exercise. I am not that nut. Growing up, I was the kid in PE class who always finished the mile run dead last, puffing toward the finish line to supportive and slightly impatient applause. I only started getting A’s in PE when our grades became based more on written tests than on physical aptitude. My mom put me in gymnastics for a few of my formative years, but I left unable to do even a simple cartwheel.

Not much has changed since then. Exercise is still not my friend. I don’t particularly like to sweat; those who know me have seen my cheeks flame into life at the slightest provocation. My family members, I must say, have formed much happier bonds with exercise. My mother teaches aerobics classes, my father adores his bicycle, and my sister runs. My aunts and uncles bike and kayak; my cousins run and take karate lessons. I…don’t. Now, my ego won’t let me get any farther without mentioning that, yes, I am at a healthy weight for my age and height. I like to walk fast and eat conscientiously. All the same, I’ve always been hopelessly out of shape.

This fact was confirmed as I lay on the living room floor with my face pressed into the carpet, trying to mimic the instructor’s smooth leg sweeps and half-cobra push-ups. “Oh my abs are killing me,” she twittered. Lady, I thought, you don’t know the half of it. But slowly, inexorably, I realized that her peppy chatter was working: the slim, tanned, and unflappably cheerful woman actually inspired me to press on through the pain. I leg-circled and dancer-swept and fumbled my way to the end of the routine.

And the next day, I did it again. With shaking muscles, clenched teeth, and fingers scrabbling at the carpet, I did it again. I poked through Pilates videos on YouTube and huffed through a class at the YMCA. I booted up Netflix and tried to keep moving through an entire episode of Psych. My skeptical side is patiently waiting for my usual laziness to creep back in. So far, though, so good. The basic moves are starting to get easier. And I actually look forward to trying new routines.  Maybe this is a fluke, soon to fall prey to waning enthusiasm and a crowded schedule. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s going to stick.

1 Comment

  1. jenn langefeld

    Love your description of how it feels to try and do the impossible, I mean, the Pilates moves. Good luck! (PS, I was the same in PE classes–would totally have kept you company running the mile. I was once memorably beaten by a girl with bad asthma, so… yeah.)

    Reply

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