After nearly three months off, I went to Pilates again. There wasn't a Sunday class anymore, and I really really missed it, so I set up a custom, semi-private six week session for The Girls and me. Lizzy and I showed up with a little trepidation, as the instructor was an instructor-in-training, and we had gotten very accustomed indeed to our previous instructor.
When we got there, two instructors-in-training awaited us. This somehow only increased our discomfort, especially since one of them was, no lie, thirteen. And then class began. The stretches, the individual attention, it was all coming back. The pace was slower than we were used to; the flow wasn't there yet as these women were new to leading class; we didn't even get around to corpse pose, my favorite part of the whole thing previously.
And yet it doesn't seem to matter. The instructor did assisted stretches with us. The individual attention was so wonderful as to be pampering. We were able to talk about individual issues and needs, have one-on-one pose correction, and we laughed again. Most of the work that we did after yoga focused on our legs, and mine are certainly feeling it tonight; I'm certain I will notice it tomorrow even more.
And it feels wonderful.
I know I will have to get up at oh-dark-hundred to get out the door and onto the bike again in the morning after two days away from it, and I'm feeling more grounded than ever.
Note: I'm going to have to talk with my doctor about the way the elliptical is kicking my heart into high gear. Apparently stairs are bad right now. And while I know that means I need more of them, I think Pilates and bike for this six weeks is the place to start. Stairs can wait until after Yuletide.
