On TV, pilates is portrayed as what all the stay-at-home desperate housewife types do. They’re all very tiny and toned and I mean, no offense, but I thought, how hard could it be?
HARD!!!! I will never do pilates again. I tried it twice. Muscles you didn’t know existed will hurt for days. No one else in the class will scream except you because they’ve all been in the class together since they were babies. They’ll all chit chat while their hips are high in the air and their feet are in knots while they’re doing a push up all at the same time. Beware.
But I must say, the icing on the cake to my entire experience was the queefing. OBVIOUSLY when you’re sweaty and moving your pelvis in strange directions and repeatedly opening and closing your legs for a “clam shell” movement, shit’s gonna happen. Like I would PREFER everyone not hear that, and I would STRONGLY prefer it not happen while my male teacher is maneuvering my lower half because I can never do the move correctly, but you can’t always choose when your vag wants to talk. Dr. Minkin of Yale Medical School says, “Just joke about it and move on! These things happen!” Well, I tried to giggle a little and send out the signal that I can confidently laugh at myself and my body, but my teacher politely pretended to ignore it, so I did the next best thing: never went back.
Any excuse not to work out, that’s what I always say!