Yes, that right. I'm the epitome of Grace. Just ask Lorraine and Ted. They'll tell you. I decided to "ramp up" my work out by adding Pilates into the mix. I know, you're saying: You look perfect just as you are! As a two year old, you were stunning! You worked that thin hair. Thank you and I know. But seriously, being a woman with an insanely slow metabolism, I needed MORE. So Pilates it is.
I went to to Pilates a couple years ago and got stuck with the Pilates Drill Sergeant. Of course the class was in the dark and she was going 5,000 miles a minute. There I was, doing the seal rocking exercise, when I nearly rolled back into the poor man behind me. The same poor man who helped me get set up with my five different sized balls, mats, and scary rubber stretchy things that if had been invented back then, could have been used as a medieval torture device. Let's just say that I did not return to that class. It was too humiliating and by the time I got accustomed to the dark, I realized everyone was glaring at my Pilates incompetence.
This brings us to Saturday when I decided to try Pilates again. Instead of rolling into the advance class and having not a clue, I decided to take the Beginner Pilates class. I showed up just as the fancy advanced class was concluding. The instructor was darling petite woman with dark hair and toned! Like perfect arms toned. I wanted her to become my mentor and have her say to me: "Grasshopper, your time will come. The Hundred will speak to you if you have patience." But she was not my instructor so I must wait until I make it to the advanced class.
Instead, a very tall and approachable woman was my instructor. And I say "my" instructor because at the YMCA, we're all fancy and sh*t. We have private lessons. In fact, my last swimming lesson was private. My Beginner Pilates class? Also private. Well, okay, it's not supposed to be private. No one else showed up. At first, I was all like: this is totally embarrassing. She'll see what a clod I am and tell me they have no pre-beginner class and ask me to leave. But oh no no no. I kicked Pilates ASS! Or at least I did in my own mind.
We did all the basic moves: The Hundred, Seal Roll - which to me sounds like a horrible sushi dish PETA would totally protest, Single Leg Stretch and Circles, Criss Cross, Double Back Kick, and a bunch of other back and leg things I can't remember now. I kept my toes pointed, I had balance, grace and strength! I didn't roll arse over head when we did the rocking seal! At the end of the class, I totally expected her to tell me how much talent I had and ask me if I had once been a dancer. Of course, I would blush demurely and answer, why yes! I dance for six years at the O'Brien's Dance Studio in Vermont and then for two year in college for
the dance company my gym credits.
And then she would reply: Oh my! I've heard great things about that dance studio in that
ballet mistress's lady's basement lower level of her home. I believe many young girls one boy continued to dance on stage with the New York City Ballet Company.
I would answer: Sadly, my brilliant career ended early at the tender age of nine.
Her face, showing shock that such a talent could be cut off so early, perhaps a tear formed in her eye thinking about the brilliance that the dancing world missed in me: What happened? Did you get dropped when you were lifted for a Fish Dive?
I would shake my head: No. Much worse. I tripped over a balloon string in my living room and broke my foot.
Her eyes would squint as she tried to wrap her head around this fact. And yes, I did break my foot tripping over a balloon string in my living room when I was nine or ten thereby leading to the nickname, Grace given by my
mean loving older sister.
Instead, she told me I did a good job throughout the class, most likely under the snickering. At one point, I had a view in the mirror of my derrière while lying in the pigeon pose and let me tell you: it ain't a pretty vision. So no Advanced Pilates for me yet. I'll continue with my Beginner Pilates until I reach the comfort level to join the others who rock the seal roll.