Thursday, April 24, 2014
Day 25/65 Or The First Day of the Rest of My Life
I've worked out many times and many ways, but today I had a first date with Pilates.
I've committed to 90 days of P90X3 to prove to myself I can indeed do this for life. Twenty-five days down, 65 to go. Or, the first day of the rest of my life, depending on how you look at it.
Day 25 is the introduction to a new routine: Pilates.
The breathing felt a bit foolish and brought back memories of birthing classes.
Because many, many moons ago, I was delivered of three babies. They brought me unadulterated joy and totally wrecked my core. Actually, it's not entirely fair to blame it all on three babies. The gate that might have killed me is to blame as well. I was delivered from it too, and my parting gifts were a fractured pelvis and exploratory abdominal surgery which guaranteed youthful, taut ab muscles would be a thing of the past at the tender age of 11. I am not overstating, either, because I was so weak, my lower back ached for the rest of the day after I vacuumed the house. In high school.
Anyway, when Joseph Pilates came through his own mother's birth canal, I think he was taking notes for the future creation of his exercise discipline that might repair all that he he wrecked when he grew inside his mother.
That's what it felt like anyway. Like repair. Like a hint of the beginning of a second chance at the old me, the one who at least had a little pre-pregnancy core strength after the gate and the doctors got through with me.
I could feel places in me that are weak getting strong. Not a dramatic Rocky-theme-song kind of strong, but a subtle, nuanced kind of strength that rises so slowly you don't realize it's coming until it's right there in the room with you keeping you company while you Shh, Shh, Shh until you think you might hyperventilate. It's the kind of strength that keeps you from looking and feeling foolish when you look and feel foolish.
Another thing I loved? Tony Horton — who is Mr. Fitness himself — got on the floor and did the move he called the pretzel. His attempt was not pretty, and he poked a little fun at himself while he was doing it. But he did it. He put it on the video and in America's hands, his weakest move that showed him in the poorest light. He rolled his eyes and smiled silly faces at himself, knowing he looked less than stellar. He mumbled something about being better at pull ups, but he didn't quit. He said, "This must be good for me," with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
The whole thing made me feel like a winner. Pilates. Tony-Mr. Fitness-Horton secure enough in his fitness prowess to show his weakness and humbly know it wouldn't wreck his credibility as a trainer. The inspiration of humanity on display. Twenty-five consecutive days, a glimpse at a second chance, and knowing there's always the rest of your life.
They are all good, good reasons to keep going in the same direction slowly.
I learned today that the number one reason to be admitted to an assisted living facility is no longer being able to sit and stand unaided.
Well, no thank you. I choose strength and balance and flexibility and aging with poise and grace.