Precarious Pilates 

By Sean McVeigh

Back in my college days — the glory days, as some like to call them (I am that “some”) — I was faced with a very tough decision. My senior year, after all my major requirements had been satisfied, I had to choose an elective for the spring semester. Naturally, I chose Pilates. Why? I don’t know. Ask “College Sean” — he worked in mysterious ways.

With that extensive background, I walked into my first actual Pilates class this past Tuesday night brimming with confidence.

A friend of mine recently became a Pilates instructor, so naturally, a group of us had to drop in and see what all the hype was about.

My wife — also in attendance — did not hold back in expressing her doubts about my abilities. She’s somewhat of a workout class connoisseur. Pilates, yoga, barre (whatever that is?) — you name it, she’s done it. I’m still unsure if she was genuinely concerned for my well-being or just worried about how much I would embarrass her. (That’s a lie. I am entirely sure which of those was the actual reason.)

Pilates, in actual practice, is not exactly how I remembered it from college. Back then, I recall a lot more lying on a mat while hungover and sleeping meditating. This class had none of that — although I did find myself spread eagle on the mat trying to catch my breath a few times, so I guess some things haven’t changed.

The class started off pretty casually. A little stretching, some light ab work — I even had a nice sweat going. I thought, “Hey, an hour of this might not be so bad!” Then came the gut-punch: my friendly instructor announced we were still in the warm-up.

I’d like to take this moment to extend a heartfelt apology to the rest of the class attendees who did not anticipate an out-of-shape, sweaty man, making Lord-knows what sort of noises, in their Tuesday night Pilates session. I owe you guys one.

We moved onto an exercise that took me a few seconds (and a few silent prayers) to figure out. “Ok, we’re going to do a side plank now.” Alright, not too bad. Just give me a minute to get my balance. “Now, lift your bottom leg. And when you come back down, go straight into a pelvic thrust.” Ummm… “And three, and two, and one …” Finally, sweet relief! “… But don’t go down — let’s hold that for … ever.” That might not be verbatim — but in the moment, that’s what I heard.

We should all just be thankful that towels were provided. Otherwise, I would’ve been the human equivalent of a broken lawn sprinkler, soaking anyone within a six-foot radius.

I can’t say my performance in my first Pilates class was a resounding success, but I only have my own physical limitations to blame for that. Trust me, this was all user error. The instructor? Top-notch. First class.

And despite the pain — oh boy, was there pain — I genuinely enjoyed the class. I got a great sweat in (not sure that’s really a goal of Pilates, but I’ll take it) and had fun doing it. It didn’t hurt that the whole thing was followed by some well-deserved post-workout whistle-wetting.

The next day, when I was too sore to move, I took out a mat, a little hungover, and took a little nap … just for old time’s sake.