makeitawkward: I Think I'll Try Pilates...Pilates Thinks It Will Murder Me

There I was, sitting on my couch with my bag (yes, bag) of bagels and my jar (yes, jar) of peanut butter making PB & Bagel sandwiches to my hearts content. Four bagels and 3/4 of a PB jar later my heart wasn't too content and my stomach was doing its fantastical version of kicking my ass. A little like this:

Me: Ugh, why did I do that?
Stomach: I hate you and now you will be my bitch...(insert intense mortal combat punches)

I had to get up and move. Absolutely had to. I couldn't do my typical run because I was pretty sure I would barf. Oh, sorry treadmill for getting my insides on you. Hmmm, so what was I to do??? Dun dun da dun! Pilates say what?! Audra, my bestie/lover/inspiration for all things holy told me that she just started doing pilates and that she looooooooooves it (emphasis on the love). So, I'm thinking "okay, I think I will do this Pilates thing...it'll be like yoga...with a little more movement...EASY PEASY!" It went downhill from there.

There I was with my totally rad eighties ponytail, yoga pants, and pink floormat, still bloated and barfy from my little food mishap. All excited. Throw in some Rocky airpunches and eye of the tiger and you pretty much have a picture of me. I start looking around the room...hmmm...um...well, no one was over 100lbs. Whatevs. I don't mind being the fat chick. Then the instructor walked in. Let's see, how do I describe her? MUSCLE. Notice how I capitalized that? Yes. That woman's name will be Muscle because she could probably punch a hole through my skull. Again, whatevs. I gots this on lock biatch. I should have shut my fat ass up right then and there. Zoom 5 minutes into the future in Bill and Ted's time machine...

"WHY ME?! WHY ME?!" Yep, 5 minutes through and I was ready to kill myself. Muscle expected me to lift my body with my arms...MULTIPLE TIMES. Pilates freakazoid say what? Is she crazy? I don't think she realized that I have fat. Yes. FAT. That stuff is heavy yo. So, instead of only my stomach wanting to bitch slap me, now I have every muscle in my body creating a hit list. I'm Italian, that's what Italian muscles do...my Jewish muscles would be giving me a guilt trip. At one point, we were in a squat for 5 minutes!!! Okay. It was 1 minute. SAME THING. The only time I am in a squat for that long is when I am on the toilet, and at least I have something to sit on.

By the end of the class, when I was passed out on my mat, dry heaving and wishing I had enough strength to tell Muscle I would never forgive her for what she did to me, the Richard Simmons Gods were pointing and laughing at me. That's right. A bunch of little Simmons heads were dancing around my brain pointing and laughing. Now, this could have been a hallucination but probably not.