I hate my pilates class.
Not because it's so damn hard. I hate it because the instructor is so damn hard-bodied.
"Okay, remember, you don't need to do weights to have a body like this. All I do is pilates!"
Oh, um, woo-friggin-hoo. You also teach 300 classes a week. I looked around the room. Not one single figure resembled the instructor's. Instead, we looked like we should be in the produce section. Maybe we're all newbies, I thought.
"Is anyone new here?"
Heads turned left and right. No one raised their hand.
"Well, today's my birthday. So, you might be thinking that I'm sluggish because I ate cake and that I'm going to take it easy on you. Or, you might be thinking I'm tired from teaching back-to-back classes. Sorry, but nooooo!"
I prayed that the instructor would tell us she just turned 25. That would help me understand why her body looked like it belonged in Baywatch.
"So, I'm leaving my 30s..."
Crap. Okay, maybe she doesn't have kids. Only someone who never gave birth could have a concave stomach, right?
"And, do you know what my children did for me?"
Frick. I was ready to throw in the towel. This woman was my age, had kids and boasted washboard abs. I looked around for a stretchy band to put myself out of my misery.
I hate pilates.
2 comments:
When you were ready to throw in the towel, I would've chucked my water bottle at her... with her pilates body, I'm sure she could've saved herself, right?
Ha! Ha! She probably would have caught it with her bionic arms and hurled it back at me.
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