Stretch

Today I attended what the email from the RecSports department called “Pilates class,” but I use its more formal title, Death On A Mat. For those of you unfamiliar with Pilates, what you do is, you take off your shoes, and you put a little mat on the floor, and you lie down on it, and then you ratchet your small intestines up past your eyeballs.

I’m not lying about this. “Now you’re going to place your feet behind your head," Rochelle The Instructor said as we lay on our backs. No… I’m not. I was staring at the ceiling, legs pointed straight up, which, twenty years ago, was the Official Playground Signifier of “You shot me/tagged me/hit me/sank my battleship and I am now dead.” Many Pilates moves start from this position. It’s no accident.

I really hate this about Pilates. It’s so fraudulent. There are mats, and lying down, and Rochelle turns the lights off and plays an Enya CD, and these all signal good things, luxurious and fine; a nap, perhaps, or a hearty juicebox. Instead: “Now you’re going to place your feet behind your head.”

Some of you are already aware of my dazzling gymnastics career. I do my best to maintain my Opening Ceremonies weight, but for some reason the professorial pattern of dining on large fistfuls of shredded cheese at 4 AM has unraveled the best efforts of my personal video trainer, Tony the Suspiciously Well-Oiled.

I have been training with Tony the Suspiciously Well-Oiled for three years now, and I have yet to award him my full trust, largely because he actually says the following things to the two minions working out behind him:

“Lisa, open your legs a little wider.”

“You’re sweating, Paul! I love that!”

and since you are supposed to work out with the tape three times a week, this accounts for a fairly oft-repeated loop of inappropriate statements.

Now I have Rochelle and her insistence that I create odd geometrical designs with my metacarpals and toenails. “Find your focal point,” she will say as we fold one leg over the other, spread our arms out for balance, and sink to the floor. My focal point is pie.

yes I know Discovery is landing tomorrow but I’m typing about Tony the Suspiciously Well-Oiled instead so I don’t have to think about it at: mb@blondechampagne.com