It’s not because I suck at Pilates, mind you. I knew I had no flexibility when I signed up for the class at the Y. I knew I would find muscles in places that shouldn’t have muscles and then proceed to pull them all like a bundle of electronic wires. What I didn’t anticipate was an animosity toward my instructor.
This little bald guy sits in front of the class and taunts us. “You think this hurts? Wait until I get out the next exercise.” “Are you ready for crazy hard? Who isn’t ready for crazy hard? Where are my veterans – I know they can do this.” “Everyone assume the Book of Love position. Don’t tell me you don’t know what that is.”
Actually I don’t but I’m hoping when I get clued in that it’s twice as big as Gone with the Wind and available in hardback so it really smarts when I hurl it at him. (That is, I’ll throw it at him after I see a massage therapist to work the kinks out of my neck.) Get outta here – isn’t watching me fall on my face, fail to touch my toes, and struggle to straighten my leg up in the air a clue I’m a newbie here? What part of this pitiful display suggests that sarcasm and insults would be inspiring?
Most importantly, why am I showing up every Monday night and devoting an hour to listening to it? Sometimes you just have to question your own sanity.