The Pilates Reformer... Tool of the Not-So-Secret Society of Sadistic Personal Trainers Oh sure, it was my choice. Beat me up with that, why don't you? I have decided that 2008 will be the year in which I return to what I consider my perfect body. Better than it's ever been, if I have my way. This, however, is not a carefree journey... it is a perilous path lined with constant temptation, sweat and pain. I got my first taste Monday night, when I returned to working with a personal Pilates trainer. Because I'm a dancer, it was recommended that I try Pilates a couple of years ago. I did, and once I got past the pain, I actually enjoyed it. However, my trainer's pregnancy as well as a change in my job and a reduced salary required a tightening of the financial belt, so I had to put it on hold.
When rehearsing for the Christmas ballet last year, I met another very nice dancer who is also a Pilates trainer. She's got to have one of the most in shape bodies I've ever seen. I was envious. I admit it - I was green... I wanted that level of fitness for myself. I spoke to her about returning to reformer workouts, and she (with one of those sweet smiles that these Sadistic Personal Trainers have perfected) said that she'd love to work with me. Translate that into: I'd love to make you cry, you out of shape, weak bitch!!! I digress.
Jump forward to 2008...new job, new salary - I can afford to go back to Pilates! So, Monday night, I get to my first appointment on time, change clothes and meet up with my trainer (I'll call her Mistress of Pain, MOP for short, since that is so damned fitting). The MOP smiled sweetly, lulling me into a false sense of serenity as I lay down on the carriage of the reformer. Now, you'll notice in the picture above that this thing looks like something out of a torturer's dungeon... for good reason. It inflicts at least that much pain, while making sure I remember that I'm doing it to myself... it's all using my own body weight in combination with springs of varying tensions... combine them to make life easy, or a living hell. The machine is evil, I tell you. Unholy. Demonic. One should bring holy water along to douse the thing in before mounting. Oh yes, you MOUNT and DISMOUNT the reformer... like that's supposed to make it somehow more palatable???
I won't bore you with infinite details... let's leave it at this: one hour later, I've got sweat dripping from my head onto the reformer carriage where I've had leather straps looped around my ankles to perform circular movement exercises with my legs, been lain on my stomach on a box holding the straps in my hands to pull my body forward (think swimming in air)... I'm seeing stars, my muscles are screaming for mercy (aw hell, I'm panting like a dog and begging any deity that will listen for a break from the ceaseless torture... that I'm PAYING for, mind you) and finally, she tells me the hour is up, and I've done well.
And what do I do? Do I swear never to come back, and with great intelligence leave the dungeon never to return? Of course not. Like a good little masochist, I practically kiss the MOP's pretty little toes and THANK her for making my legs shake like a recently deflowered virgin and tell her I CAN'T WAIT FOR NEXT WEEK!!!!!
Today... my inner thighs are talkin' to me like I should have done something a whole lot more fun than be tortured by the MOP... and I still had a 2 hour ballet class to get through. But that's another story...
No comments:
Post a Comment