The Power of Pilates

25 May

After months hiding behind black opaques I decided it was time to kick start my summer fitness regime.

I opted for a pilates class near Warren Street. After a light meal in a Japanese restaurant, my friend and I headed towards what we expected to be a gym.

As we neared the large town house with a butler at the door, we didn’t dare enter incase it was someone’s house.

“Are you here for the event?”

“Erm… pilates?”

“Ooh yes, top floor.”

After a year of not doing any conventional form of exercise I discovered that this must be how Londoners work out, in fancy town houses.

Walking up the stairs lined with lavender and small stuffed rabbits (bizarre), we passed two waiters holding trays of cocktails and canapés we made our way to the top floor. Now getting past second floor was sheer motivation in itself.

The class was in a lofty room overlooking a square, with strange mismatched antique-esqe pictures on the wall. I avoided the large mirror and laid my mat in the far corner.

I really enjoyed the two hour class, although it was rather painful. The teacher was fantastic, and even offered a thirty minute core strength exercise class for my friend and I to catch up with the others.

After the initial embarrassment of sitting in what seemed like antenatal positions with apparatus between our thighs, I felt relaxed, and not too embarrassed by my obvious lack of any flexibility or poise.

Today I’m sat at my desk in slight pain, although a lot straighter in general. I’m not sure whether it’s a subconscious thing, but I feel that I’m making an effort to sit up right rather than my usual Richard III slouch (Soz Rich… I know Shakespeare made all of that up).

Pilates gets a thumbs up from me.


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