It had been one of those grim Mondays – racing round town to meetings, in the rain, with a thumping paracetamol-resistant headache and a return home to the double whammy of cat sick in the hall and a daughter complaining of a very sore throat.
So the excuse to avoid my free “Bootcamp Pilates” class seemed iron-clad. Which isn’t how I could describe my gluts so I dragged myself out, thinking at least I could tell the trainer to go easy on me because I was feeling poorly. Wimp.
I found the lime green door between Sweaty Betty and the shoe shop opposite Pizza Express and pressed the buzzer. Once inside I was faced with a steep flight of stairs – in lime. The same shade I was convinced that my face had turned. As I climbed each step, my heart sank a little lower as I dared to read the headlines on the numerous magazine articles all over the walls. Not helping, all the models looked so fit, perfect, happy and, did I say it already, fit? I pulled in my tummy, partly to remind myself I’ve done loads of Pilates classes in the past and partly in anticipation of entering a room full of gym-toned “Honies”.
The guy on reception was friendly and as far from intimidating as it is possible to be. After confirming my details I glanced over his shoulder into the glass studio behind him. That lime green is a bit of a theme. The 7 o clock class was in session – seven women and a guy lying on devices that looked like a cross between a torture rack and a gynaecologists examining table. Hello Reformer!
I sat quietly – although I’m sure everyone could hear my heart thumping – watching the class in progress. Pilates to me was a mat on the floor – and a stretch band, head block and squeezy ball if you were lucky. “Remember to smile” said the instructor “and the pain will disappear”. Yeah, right.
The people for my 8 o’clock class started arriving and were chatting happily while I looked on in stunned silence. Was it my imagination or was my headache worsening and my temperature rising? It wasn’t too late to run down the stairs and into the night…
Then Dave the instructor started saying goodbye to that class and welcoming the next. I mumbled something about being a complete beginner and I just wanted to watch. There was no pressure and complete understanding about my poor state of health. He sympathised. Was this some sort of reverse psychology? I decided to give it a go – knowing that I could leave after a few minutes having explained about my headache and poorly daughter. And I’d just spotted a woman who must have had 20 years on me. I wasn’t going to be outdone.
And off we went across the soft cream carpets to our Reformers – noticing the nicely arranged hand weights beneath. We lay on our backs and held resistance rings above our heads and placed our feet on the base bar and pushed. This carriage thing underneath us slid away smoothly and the right muscles stretched. It was kind of like a rowing machine – but lying down. Nice. As my reluctant leg muscles – happily encased in their cellulite – started working I concentrated on my breathing, in through the nose and out through pursed lips. Actually, it felt quite good.
There was music playing quietly in the background – lively dance vibes rather than that wholesome meditation musak you sometimes get in Pilates. I dared to glance at the mirror covered wall and at the two guys and five girls beside me and realised that I didn’t look a complete idiot but was somehow managing to hold my own.
Then we flipped onto our sides and hooked our foot into a stirrup thing and started leg raises while the lower leg did small elevations. I was getting into my stride and could feel my gluts grumbling (well, screaming actually) so I concentrated on that breathing. No doubt I looked like I was in labour but I was beginning to get into it. At this point I realised that I was committed until we exercised the other side or I would be forevermore lopsided. Oh well, it wasn’t too bad. And that uber-calm, dry witted instructor tossed the odd positive comment in my direction and I was concentrating on those ham strings and calf muscles like my life depended on it.
Then we changed our foot position and tried some roll ups – without moving the carriage. Not so easy. But I could feel my core muscles and tensed pelvic floor forcing my gluts to do their thing. The instructor continued to provide calm, clear and easy to follow instructions – and the odd joke (including 50 shades) – while he adjusted the assortment of coloured springs on our tables. It changes the resistance you see.
More exercises and I was concentrating – as instructed – on maintaining a level leg and alignment with those straps. Then we used the base bar for some roll ups – with the resistance rings – and then I found myself in a shoulder bridge. Before I knew it over 40 minutes had passed. But my body really was telling me that I’d had enough. But, miraculously, my headache had gone and my smile had been restored.
I glanced at Dave and he waved a tiny goodbye – and was there a hint of approval that I’d lasted that long? That’s motivation. I swear I was a good two inches taller as I left the place, with the teeniest spring in my step. As I strode towards the station I felt so much lighter, and happier and more relaxed. And my gluts were reminding me that they actually liked exercise as I took each step. I shall be returning when this cold thing is gone and when my daughter is recovered – somehow those floor mats are never going to be enough again.
As well as Richmond, there are centres in Hoxton, Fulham and Notting Hill (where classes start at 6am, in Richmond it’s 7am). You can buy classes in batches of 5, 10, 20, 30 or 40 and use them at any centre. One-to-one tuition is available – even at 9pm and at weekends.
www.bootcamppilates.com for further details.
