"Pilots"

It’s not what you think.

“Pilots” is what Tim calls Pilates, so when I arrive home after a session he’ll ask me “how was Pilots?” It’s usually a lot better than flying—there is a bounce in my step when I leave the class and head toward the bus--yet I have to admit I struggle with the routines that require balance. I have none.

Coordination has always been a slight issue for me. I’m the one who walks along and for no particular reason turns her ankle. I recently fell up the stairs at the office (fortunately no one saw me) and skinned my knee. At my age! I (somewhat fondly) recall walking along West Side Avenue in Jersey City with my two sisters and for absolutely no reason at all finding myself on the pavement on all fours rather than the standard two while a gentleman walks by and says “Hello ladies!” Robyn and I still use that line decades later. I laughed then, I’m sure, and I still laugh now, but gosh I wish I could manage one of the exercises with a bit more . . . grace.

Put all of your weight on your right leg. Go ahead. Now, when you’re ready, put the toes of your left leg on your right knee. If you need to, extend your arms or place hands on hips. Are you there yet? Now, move your toes from their position on your right leg to first point forward, and then make a circle around to the back and come back to the starting position, toes on knee. No touching the floor with those toes!

Oh, by the way, that’s the easy one.

After the second or third session I walked up to Amanda and asked for advice on maintaining my balance. She suggested I try different positions with my arms to help me gain my balance . . . and practice. No doubt good advice, but months later I’m still on the fourth rep while everyone else is switching weight to their other leg. And she’s kicked it up a notch with more challenging exercises because we’re a more advanced class.

I’ve tried arms akimbo, arms straight out, arms like I’m flying. Nothing seems to keep me stable long enough to get through the reps. When I’m at the photocopier at work waiting for my copies to spit out I practice. And I don’t give up in class; I touch my toes to the mat and start again while Amanda steps the rest of the class through eight reps and then switches legs. She executes perfectly, and while I do notice a few wobblers in the room, everyone seems to manage with the occasional toe tap to the mat. 

How do they do it?

There’s some science to it, of course—inner ear and vision both play parts in stability, I read. I can try to focus on a stable object in front of me (I tend to look at Amanda and try to mimic her, silly me) or I can try to close my eyes, though that feels risky as I suspect I may find myself back on all fours hearing the voice from the past greeting “Hello Ladies!” before I have time to catch myself.

Fortunately the balance routines are only a small part of the workout Amanda has for us, and it changes every four weeks. I quite like the class, which I started earlier this year to strengthen my core and stretch my muscles to keep that occasional sciatic pain at bay, and only miss a session when I’m working through a pizza in Italy or kayaking in Mecklenburg. At least I can get that balance somewhat right!

One of the things I like about this Pilates programme is that it’s all very low-key; the classes are held in school halls and not Pilates studios (and the difference in cost is amazing--£7 a session to £30 and up in London). I can attend any session on any day of the week outside my usual near Angel station, as long as I email the coordinator so the instructor knows to expect me. I’d say I’m probably near the oldest in the group who go to the Tuesday class, and by far the oldest in the Monday session which is near Old Street where everyone else is under 30; must be the neighbourhood. We all wear tee-shirts (mine is often the one provided free from the company who sponsors the classes) and some sort of athletic trousers (Lycra favours heavily except for me) and sport ankle socks. I have to admit when I first started I thought I might have to spend on athletic gear because I didn’t really have much, but my tennis socks are fine, the tee shirt was a nice bonus and I have a couple of pairs of ¾ or full-length stretchy bottoms that I don’t use for tennis (mostly because they don’t have enough pockets). 

And I fit right in—no one comes to the session dressed in high-tech gear and it’s a lot of the same outfit as last time . . . in fact last week one of the women showed up in mismatched socks, which Amanda said she quite liked and to which the woman replied that neither partner could be found after the last wash.

We can choose to place our mat anywhere we want in the large room which is generally devoid of furniture except the Old Street “studio” which has a baby grand piano tucked in one corner. I usually choose the back row (there are usually two, as classes are held to 10-12 participants) so less people are noticing my toe-tapping, arm-flailing balancing woes. Those of us who are regulars have sort of fallen into a pattern of where we choose to unroll our mat (or in my case, mats—the floors are wooden and the mats are thin; I did it at Amanda’s suggestion and have started a trend, LOL). 

There’s sometimes a bit of chit chat before the session begins—about missing the last class or having a substitute teacher when Amanda goes home to Trieste for holiday. We tend to say hello to each other or smile, though we don’t actually know each other’s names (certainly I don’t) and we don’t hang around and shoot the breeze after class—it’s generally a brief greeting to Amanda and then we all file out the door, some heading toward parked cars and the rest of us in scattered directions.

I don’t mind that, though I’ll admit I’m surprised—you’d likely be amazed at how friendly London is. Last week at the end of the session one of the women remarked how relaxed she feels after the class, to which I agreed, and then asked which bus I was taking; I guess she’d noticed me hopping one previously. Still we didn’t introduce ourselves and we wound up taking different buses, cheerily saying see you next week.

I’m tempted to peek at how well she maintains her balance and solicit advice!  No, no, must look forward at an immovable object . . . !