From the row of treadmills, women who are huffing and puffing and sweating are staring at me. I know what they are thinking. “That,” she thinks, “has no right to be called working out.”
How do I know? Last week I worked away on the eliptical trainer thinking, “So that is ALL pilates is? That isn’t so hard. I can do that.”
This week I tried pilates for the first time and I have to say. Oh my god, I can only imagine the pain I will be in tomorrow. It doesn’t look like hard work, but standing on your tip toes and then doing the chair sit, but without a wall. Ouch. I got cramps in wierd muscles during the class and shook from trying to hold some v-sit. I rocked on my sit-bones and balanced on my toes. I felt stronger than I thought I was and weaker than I thought I was at the same time.
I limped out of the gym and onto the train and by the time I was home I was ravenous. Must have a shower and a burger. Well, my roommate beat me to the shower, so I put on a hat and a hoodie and headed to the diner.
I am stuffed now and tired and my cat is upset with me for all the neglect this week. So I am going to bed to listen to Dr. Drew and Adam and peacefully fall asleep. Tomorrow I’m even going to sleep in after 6:30, cause it is my day off.