Saturday, 28 June 2014

Bent but not broken

Until last night I wasn't fully aware that I had a pelvic floor.  I just thought it was something ladies had swept before giving birth.  But no longer.

No, as part of my incessant climb towards the summit of modern manhood, yesterday I attended my first ever male group Pilates class.  That's me in action above.  And this morning I hurt like billio.  

I normally head off for a little run when I wake up - sorry, when Jamie and/or Charlotte wake me up - on a Saturday.  But my back, legs and core - get me - are just too painful.  And I can't even begin to describe the state my coccyx has been left in.  (Plus it's a bit grey outside and I might get wet).

However, no pain, no point in paying is what I say.  And my new Pilates pals and I certainly had that from teacher extraordinaire Jill who possesses that rare ability to achieve the perfect blend of lady sympathy and female cruelty in order to get results.

We'll all be back in our little shorts again next Friday at 6pm for more suffering, but only after we've done our homework.  

Yes, if you're passing by the Whites' front window over the coming week, you might spot me doing my twice-daily mash-up of sways, clams, pelvic tilts and something else, the name of which I've forgotten because I can't read my own scribble.  I will then crawl off either to work or to bed, almost certainly in tears.  And I've got to do them otherwise Jill will find out and most likely hit me with her "Pilates pole" (broom handle).  

The other challenge between now and then will be to try to explain to Jamie and Charlotte that I'm not really going to pirates class without them.