Forgive me guys for I sinned about five years ago in the middle of a Pilates class. I actually told a Victoria’s Secret model clad in spandex doing Pilates on the floor next to me that I thought it would be better if she was not there. Shocking, I know. Maybe even unbelievable. I know that, too. Most likely I was in a fugue state. Nope, I think I was still sane. So what was I thinking?
As I leisurely walked to class, I had no idea I would be sinning within 30 minutes. All I was thinking about was that I hoped that I would not be the only person taking the class. That sounds weird, too. Right? Everyone wants a private lesson for the price of a group lesson. Right? Well, not everyone.
I had started taking Pilates with my wife a year or so prior to that night. We would go together. That is, until she decided that she needed her own workout and migrated to barre classes, classes I knew better than to attempt. So I kept going to Pilates. Alone. Sometimes my friends, John an Kris, would be there. Other times my friend, Daryn, would be there. And still other times some of my neighbors would be there. But many times it was just me.
At first, that was cool. After all I was getting private lessons at a bargain price. Eventually the allure of private lessons faded when I realized how much I was being scrutinized by the instructor. Every move. Every rep. Everything. It was unnerving. To some extent it was annoying, not because she was wrong, but because I was never going to get it right.
Anyway, as I was walking to class that night, I just wanted to have someone, anyone, in the class with me. The more the merrier.
So I walked into the studio and saw the teacher. I did not see anyone else. My heart sank. Then the teacher said those fateful words, “Harry, I think the super model will be in class with you tonight!” My heart leapt. “A super model? How super?” I asked. She said, “Think Victoria’s Secret!” I did. My heart leapt higher.
The clock wound down to the start of class. No super model. My heart sank again. Soon I was in the opening movements of the class. I heard a stream of corrections. “Harry, straighten your legs.” “Harry, point your feet.” “Harry, slow down the movements.” You get the point. I was under the Pilates microscope yet again, and there was no super model or anyone else to deflect the teacher’s attention.
After about 10 minutes, the studio door opened and in walked the super model. My jaw dropped. My heart leapt, more because I was not alone than for any other reason. Well, maybe not more than any other reason. The teacher introduced us. Her name was etched into my mind. Mine never permeated her consciousness. I told her I was really glad she was there. Most likely that did not penetrate her consciousness, either. None of that mattered. I was not alone. I could have a few moments of peace. I would not hear the steady stream of form corrections, or at least not as many. Actually, it was better then I thought it was going to be, as the teacher sort of forgot I was there. I heard nothing. Yippee.
We continued to work on the reformers for about 10 more minutes and then the teacher said it was time to do floor work, something I never did. Apparently, floor work is reserved for those that are good at Pilates and had cores and buns of steel, which I did not. So we got on the floor and the workout continued.
But it was not like any workout I had ever done before. Apparently, super models are really good at Pilates, or at least this one was. The teacher could not push her new prize student hard enough. Of course, the teacher was indirectly pushing me way past my abilities. I was dying. I was schvitzing. My moves were becoming more and more spastic as the sets and reps wore on. The only good news was that the teacher ignored me.
Eventually, we took a break. That was when I looked over to the super model and said, “I really wish you were not here!” Maybe, by that point I was in a fugue state afterall.