a meditation on pilates

I have almost decided that my bi-weekly Pilates-at-the-Apollo is an intolerable waste of time. There simply must be a better soundtrack for working out. Laying on my back breathing through The Hundred while Whitney-Houston-or-whoever-the-fuck gets her groove back channels more hostility than motivation. As my arms bounce rhythmically at my sides and I'm huffing through each set of five, I am also imagining taking aim at the pretty white Bose speakers that hang from the ceiling and pulling a trigger. The bullet moves too quickly to track the motion and then they shatter and fall to the floor. There are no more slow, soulful leg circles and I can suffer through plank position in peace.

I haven't totally written off the group fitness idea, I'm just saying that the playlist could really use revamping, and the instructor could use some instruction, and the 18-year-old majority could use some serious maturing.  Other than that, it's going great.  The backs of my thighs are still a little sore from Monday's class.  

I really miss my pole dance fitness classes.  I do better in a setting where there are concrete goals to reach.  I get bored easily with monotony; luckily the pilates instructor finally decided to change up the routine after several weeks.  I'm sure she's a really great health science major but perhaps it's possible that she isn't a born leader.  I would like her to once explain the importance of posture, breathing, or for the love of lean muscles, to tell us to "pull our bellybutton into our spine and lengthen."