Three sessions of Pilates today.
My abs feel like they’re on fire.
My legs are jelly.
…I’m seriously contemplating a fourth.
Apparently I’m into sadism at the moment.
I made the mistake of sitting down to watch part of a movie at one point getting up again to go pee, and was seized with the most amazing case of 90-year-old-hobble you have ever seen.
…Something like the exaggerated bow of a cowboy’s lollup, as if the horse were stuck permanently between his legs, and the bent-over (almost in half) incapacity to stand up of my once polio-ridden grandmother…in her later years.
…Much swinging of the the arms helps. Think of it like swimming through the air.
My every muscle seemed to have been seized and viciously contracted…like a full-body cramp. So naturally, I figured the best way to loosen that up would be another session of torture.
…Which totally worked.
I can stand up now and everything.
…Course that was about five minutes ago, when I first sat down to write this. It’s prob’ly all gone to hell again.
…I am beginning to see why fitness breeds fitness.
It has nothing at all to do with adrenaline.
That is shit.
…It has everything to do with the ability to walk like a grown up human to the bathroom and go pee.
That is all.
I don’t even wanna know what my body is gonna feel like in the morning.
…Maybe I’ll do some yoga before bed, to stretch it all out so I’ll be able to actually recline in the lateral position and not have to sleep hugging onto my knees all night long.
Vicious cycle.
Fitness bastards.
…Meanwhile, I found this new pose on the internet that’s for like full body tension and balance. It’s kind of awesome. (Not at all.) I call it my “Superman” pose. It goes like this:
Prostrate on the yoga ball at your middle. And slowly, and carefully, attempt to raise all limbs like you did as a kid on the feet of your mom/dad/uncle/older cousin, and “fly”…trying your best not to face plant into the hard wood floor.
I’m close to success.
…By “close” I mean “not at all.”
When I actually get the guts to let go of the ground, I teeter for about half a second before everything morphs into slow motion as I either list to the side, colliding with the couch, or shoot my hands out last second to save my forehead from cracking open on the floor.
…Meanwhile, mid-pose (for that whole half a second) my insides quake and contract at rapid speed…much like a spectacular bout of puking-prep just before one hurls.
It’s honestly a lot less fun than I remember playing “Superman,” being.
…Just as like an FYI to cross off the list of things you may have somewhere, that you regret no longer being able to do, as a grown up.
You’re welcome.
~D
