met Perez in pilates

It may surprise you to know that I stopped going to the gym in June and traded my daily work out for ice cream and sunshine. Now that it's fall and I can no longer justify a daily bowl of ice cream, I'm trying to get buff again. I opened up a membership at the Kroc center, and so far I have attended pilates/yoga, cardio hip hop, power (weights) and 20-20-20.

Being the new person in group exercise classes is a bit nerve wracking. You don't know how things run, you don't know any of the people, and you don't know what equipment you need. The first class I went to was pilates/yoga. I pride myself on my natural flexibility, but I knew well enough that being able to fold into a pretzel is not going to help with pilates. Pilates takes muscles that are hidden in the depth of your being.

Anyway, so there I am, taking my cues from the others in the room. I roll out a mat and take off my shoes. I do a few stretches and touch my toes. Pretty soon the guy next to me sticks out his arms airplane style and says something to me. I have no idea what he says, but he's pretty serious about his pre-class stretching. "What was that?" I asked. He repeats himself with a Cuban accent. My mat neighbor is what I imagine Perez Hilton would be like in 30 years, only less fabulous. He wants me to move over a bit because apparently I'm cramping his wingspan. I oblige. Clearly this little man is experienced at yoga/pilates. He probably does some very elaborate and advanced moves, what with all the space he needs and everything.

If you don't know who Perez Hilton is, you are a better person than me. Also, when searching for this picture, I found others of him very toned. Probably the results of Pilates.

The class begins. It's easy. I can reach everywhere and touch everything and balance fairly well. We start to do some more moves that requires more muscle work and flexibility. The guy next to me starts making puffing sounds. He starts sweating a bit. Here I am, trying to stretch and relax, and Perez Senior is over here sounding like he's gonna die of lung failure. Clearly he is not an expert. His fancy monogrammed mat and flying airplane stretches mean nothing.

I giggle on the inside, but then immediately sober up at the thought of having to give him mouth-to-mouth when his lungs give out. That's the problem with being CPR/first-aid certified. You're always on the lookout for people who might need saving. And it's never hot, single men.