I’ve been Pilates-curious nearly my entire adult life but, up until recently, too afraid to go to a Pilates class because:
1. The way people talk about Pilates has led me to believe that it is for only the strongest among us. I’ve seen videos of body builders being reduced to shaky, sweat-drenched messes after just a few minutes on the reformer machine.
2. Pilates might be a cult? People who do Pilates seem to only talk about doing Pilates. And that’s coming from someone who has trained for marathons and made it everyone else’s problem every single time by refusing to talk about anything else other than electrolyte intake and mile times.
3. I don’t like doing things that I am not immediately good at.
But despite all those hesitations, I decided to finally try reformer pilates at the ripe age of 39. I was a relatively old dog trying to learn a new trick.
The motive behind this decision to try reformer Pilates was the same motive behind all great decisions — there was a Groupon for a five-class pass. A Groupon that I was made aware of by a friend. So we bought our passes together and scheduled our first session.
My fears were not assuaged when we walked into the studio. There were rows of equipment that looked similar to the torture devices on display in the Tower of London. I learned that the platforms that looked like a mix between Papa Bear’s bed and the machine from “The Princess Bride” that takes years off of one’s life were called reformers.
Once class started, it was about as embarrassing as I had anticipated. I was, indeed, not immediately good at it. In fact, I was pretty bad. The instructor had to walk over to my reformer and correct my position eight separate times. The words she used were technically in English, but in combinations I had never heard before. Tabletop. Hollow body. Foot strap. It was scary and I did everything wrong. And I, like the men in the videos I had seen, was reduced to a shaky, sweat-drenched mess. It was absolutely one of the best workouts I had ever had.
I talked about it for a week and made my new hobby everyone else’s problem until the second class.
At first, I was encouraged to not be corrected as many times as I was during my first class. And I knew what the instructor meant when she said tabletop. But things got a little complicated when we were instructed to stand on top of the sliding carriages and grab the baton nestled beneath the footbar. I wondered if the nine other class attendees and I might be learning a tap dance. But instead, the instructor demonstrated how to do a side lunge while keeping one foot on the frame and one foot on the sliding carriage while holding the baton. Then we were told to attempt the exercise ourselves.
And I don’t know exactly what happened or what I did wrong, but on my first side-lunge attempt, I lost what little balance I had and toppled.
I’ve heard people describe traumatic events as feeling like they happen in slow motion and I can now confirm that’s true. I knew I was falling, but didn’t know how to stop what felt like an eternal journey from the reformer to the floor. I did, miraculously, have the instinct to stick my hips back and fall on my derriere instead of the back of my head.
Meaning I was in no way physically harmed. I was embarrassed, obviously. Eight strangers and the teacher and my friend had watched me fall off the reformer. And that hurt my pride.
But I wasn’t as embarrassed as my worst fears told me I would be if I tried something new. I was not immediately good at it; in fact, I was absolutely the worst in the class. But no one but me seemed to care. In fact, when I fell, most of the other Pilates-ers looked over, saw I wasn’t bleeding, and went back to their sets. Because they were minding their own business, getting the most out of their workout, because that’s the actual point. If anything, I was an inspiration of sorts — motivation to check their own balance and stay steady.
And I’m fine with being that person. Because there is, to my knowledge, no special award that people who are good at reformer pilates receive. And, to my knowledge, they don’t kick you out if you’re bad. If they did, I would have been kicked out by now. Instead, I’ve completed all five of the Groupon classes and purchased a 10-class pass.
I guess it doesn’t actually matter if you’re exceptional or just barely keeping from falling when it comes to developing new skills. What matters is the effort. I regret that it’s taken me 39 years to learn this. But maybe 39 years is as long as it takes to get over the embarrassment of being kind of bad at things but doing them anyway.
I am, slowly, getting better. I’m still corrected by the instructor once or twice a class but I know what hollow body and tabletop mean and know how to execute those positions.
I’m trying my best to not make my new skill every one else’s problem and keep my urge to describe the number of side-lunges performed in check.
But the truth is, I’m in the cult now, in part because the cult gave me a place to understand what it means to grow and improve.
Old dogs can learn new tricks, I guess. They just might fall off the reformer in the process.