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October Three

10/3/2013

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Pie and Lattes

Due to my deep love of all things yogurt, I will not draw any correlations between my previous post describing said love and my new interest in exercise. But ya’ll, you go ahead and find any significance you see fit.

Speaking of fit, my jeans don’t. Har har. But really. So I started something new. Everyday, I do what many brochures and doctors call physical activity.

I'm not completely new to the concept. In my youth, I was a very treadmill every day type of girl. Then I had kids. I considered them my treadmill. Now my two treadmills go off to school and I have nothing to run all over. 

So I've become loose with that phrase. I include vacuuming, frequent bathroom trips, and knawing on Twizzlers as aerobic. Hey, it gets my heart rate up. Kinda.

Now I've started to go on morning walks –fast- with my dog, or *gasp* morning runs. I used to joke that I only run if I’m really scared or super late. Now I run because I have so many ideas flooding my brain. I want to get back home to outline, revise, and edit. I’m motivated to get this exercise over with so I can get back to being sedentary with my laptop (best friend). And I want to get to the yogurt.

The quicker I run, the faster I get back to letting my muscles atrophy. Hmmm. If you read that the way I think it, then you’ll understand why I’ve been going to Pilates and other such classes. Witnesses, people. 
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My good friend (holla!) and I have been doing a tour of all the free classes in our crazy-fit town. If there aren’t a dozen 5k runs in a weekend then hate mail is sent. People love their races. So there are plenty of local classes to pick from. We started with the cheapest. Because, duh, I’m a writer. A lot of classes are free the first time. That’s how they get you hooked. Or in my case, intimidated.

I tried Body Pump and yes, it was. I couldn’t walk properly for three days. I was like an old lady. But the actual class was fun and fast and very, very pumpy. Step was too bouncy for certain gregorific body parts. Yoga was almost perfect but too relaxing. Snoring did take place.

What I’ve settled on is Pilates. Who doesn’t like to play with big balls? Insert joke here. Or, slap self for being fresh here.

All the toys in the Pilates room seem so simple. Then you use them. And you’re torn between wanting to buy them and wanting to murder them. 
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I bought a Pilates ball. My kids were thrilled. I got them each a Pilates ball so we could have our own classes. Same with the stretchy ropes. And the medium size balls. And soon enough, there is no such thing as a free exercise class.

My Pilates teacher/coach/super-fit-exercise-thinker-upper told us that Joseph Pilates saw his four-year-old nephew playing and realized how many muscles we stop using as we get older. He thought up a lot of Pilates by watching kids play.
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I like that. Other things I like about my Pilates experience: There is soft music and dim lighting—why do all gyms have the opposite? I love how you do a lot of Pilates lying down—so convenient. And there aren’t so many repetitive motions. It’s kind of a Make it Count mantra. Also, any excuse to use the word powerhouse, core, and to roll like a ball or assume superman pose on a huge ball. I’m in.   

A basic aspect of Pilates is: if it hurts, stop. That is also my life philosophy. Too bad I can’t always follow it. Especially when it conflicts with another innate truth about a fermented milk product that is extremely tasty served frozen. 

Workin' my core, 
~gregorific
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