I feel beautiful when I do pilates. I have just started going again after a two year hiatus while I baked and took care of Little Red. There is something about the way it makes me taut and strong in my hips, in my back, in my neck, shoulders and torso that makes me walk tall and feel like I am long and lithe and all Miranda Kerr (sans the uppity ‘tude and the obsession with talking about organic everything). I’m not Miranda Kerr, of course, but the key is feeling like you are, right? Like or loathe the woman, she is seriously stacked. Am I right?
The first time I tried pilates, I hated it so much I didn’t go back for a year. It was those tiny, precise movements – there is so much to think about all at once: tighten your abs, keep your shoulders back, head up, etc. It gave me the epic shits, I got incredibly frustrated and went back to weight training (and by weight training, I mean eating chips on the couch). But doctors and physios who I was seeing for a dodgy back kept telling me it was the shizz, so eventually I acquiesced and went along again.
And you know what? It freaking fixed me. Really incredible stuff. Five years of back trouble vanished in a few months. I soon became addicted. I went from being a clumsy beginner to being that smug chick up the front who always starts on level 3, doing tricep push-ups while balancing in a headstand position and smiling at herself in the mirror. *
Incidentally, the midwives who checked my stomach muscles after I had my babies said it was easy to tell I had done pilates because, although I birthed baby elephants instead of humans, my muscles stayed reasonably together and – I don’t like to brag but – apparently my pelvic floor is really something to write home about.
Women who have had babies, of course, have beaten innards, like a batch of overripe tomatoes that have been in a Thermomix for 2.3 seconds. But pilates tightens things up again in a way I had forgotten was possible.
Here’s a nice little summary of what pilates can do for you.
Champagne Husby has never done pilates. He thinks pilates isn’t a real thing – that it’s a – and I’ll quote here – ‘lame-o, made-up, modern version of yoga with a silly name’. He also thinks core muscles are something gym instructors have made up in order to sell more gym memberships. He calls it my ‘lying on your back in the dark’ class. I made the mistake of coming home last Tuesday night and sleeping in the clothes I went to pilates in, because I was going for a run first thing in the morning and it would save me changing. So now Champagne Husby also thinks if I don’t sweat enough to have to change clothes, it also does not count as exercise.
This is fine with me because it means he can stay at home with the children while I go and get my Kerr on for an hour and get some freaking peace. And he doesn’t seem to mind that I come home all fabulous and confident and awesome either.
Are you a pilates believer? Why/why not?