On a whim, I picked up a Pilates book at the library a couple of weeks ago. Craig glanced through the pages and thought that looked
easy as though it was something he could do in a hotel room when traveling, so he picked up a DVD to tuck in his travel suitcase and we both decided we would give it a go.
And by “give it a go”, I mean do the warm-up exercises for 10 minutes on a Saturday morning and call it a day.
Flash forward to this week and I said, “I think I’m going to do that Pilates thing again today” and he said, “Don’t you mean Pilate? You can’t call it Pilates if you’ve only done it once.” And so I smacked him.
I put in the 30-minute DVD and by the 12-minute mark decided that the instructor was certifiable and yet I persisted because I have to be in a swimsuit in three weeks and the net-net of the situation is that I have now wound up in a big heap unable to do anything that requires abdominal control. I cannot sneeze without crying, I cannot get off the couch unassisted, and, worst of all, I’ve been reduced to sleeping on my back because it hurts too much to use my oblique muscles to roll over on my side.
Oh, it’s pathetic.
So I soothed my battered body by thrift store shopping with friends Heather and Rebecca and celebrating our barganzas ($3 skirt!) by grabbing dessert at Neomonde thereby undoing all my exercise or, as I prefer to think of it, fueling myself for another round.
Have a nice day.