Pilates, yoga, whatevah.

Recently I came across this FASCINATING article online about one Marine's plunge into the pool of physical perfection and excellence through the use of that ageless discipline we all refer to as YOGA. Normally, I could care less about what everyone else is doing these days to stay in shape - it's difficult enough keeping up with my own quest to achieve "body perfect" through limited expansion of energy. So far, I have not found this ever elusive holy grail of the fitness world. So I trudge over to the gym like everyone else, cursing every blessed step I take until I am forced to actually move muscles that resist the instruction to comply.

So here is this little Second Lt. (see images below) expounding upon the benefits of YODA to the journalist and I had to chuckle about the truthfulness of this expose'. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/13890826/ Yoga, YODA, pilates, whatevah, they're pretty much all the same as far as I'm concerned because they are truly the silent killers of any of the forms of exercise available to man. And I mean this with all sincerity. When I tell you it is difficult to do, just take my word for it and move yourself along. Nothing to see here.

About a year and a half ago, I purchased the "complete set" of this lovely product:

Why? You ask? Because working out around that time was difficult when I was literally the 24 hour cafe ole' for my bebe - meaning, life outside the four corners of the home was as difficult to attain at times as say, getting Barbara Streisand on that Goodship Lollipop she promised to sail off on when dubya came into office.

So my dvd's arrive and I embark upon my quest for body beautiful through what I anticipate should amount to some rolling around on the floor in some leotards and leg warmers and not much more than that. I am so smug about finding the perfect solution to my anti-exercise campaign, that I invite the family in to witness this remarkable feat. Me, performing what I believe will be some leg lifts, some "bottom" lifts, some arm swirly things to the flashdance soundtrack in the backdrop. What my family actually witnessed was nothing of the sort.

Suffice to say, Pilates is a discipline that I imagine the coaches for the Ukraine/Chinese Olympic gymnasts team conjured up as some really sick form of torture. I am watching the screen, I see all the other body beautiful's performing each exercise effortlessly. I am encouraged to try and do. And I hear Ms. Windsor coaxing me to use my "core center" to achieve these bizarre moves. I tell said core center to obey and listen to the lady. It does not. And I reference the screen again to see why I am not able to fold myself up mid-air and balance myself on my butt while wrapping my arms around two straighten legs in the air which, incidentally, are supposed to be pressed against my nose.

All the body beautifuls on screen have perfect form and I do not hear the rhythmic "thudding" sound emanating from the tv after each model falls over from performing this feat. Oh, that would be inherently blasphemous in the Temple Pilates! And then, like a whisper, Ms. Pilates instructs the camera to pan out to the "beginner" "intermediate" and "advanced" models in the group to give "everyone" watching the opportunity to see how you should actually look if you fall into any of these levels. Apparently, I fall into none of the above because I do not see the model on screen who is falling over constantly and cursing hysterically. That wench, I curse thee. So from my contorted and highly uncomfortable (thud) pose, I strain to see that "beginner" model whose about to be featured and whom I can blow kisses to as my way of saying "oh, thank you, thank you, you kind sista soul of mine."

Did it happen? Did I get to see what Pilates should look like from "beginner" model Bambi? Um, nooooooo. Why? Because like me, she must have attempted the death defying stunt of back bend slash one arm raise with simultaneous leg lift and accidentally fell off the stage. That or she simply didn't exist and Ms. Windsor was screwing with my head. I know these "I'm am just so natural and toned and wholesome with my Yoga/Pilates routine" women. Their condescension about how they can contort is unmasked and soooo unsubtle. They relish in exposing the unflattering and highly uncoordinated movements of people like me and beginner Bambi. And this, is just so unnecessary. Besides, it really messes with my quest for body beautiful through virtual inactivity.

I may revisit these dvd's again someday. I may not. It's just my little way of thumbing my nose at the fitness establishment. "There, take that!" I say in my silent protest of all that is cruel and tortuous when attempting to retrain a body that has no interest in pressing the body perfect autopilot button. For now, I will press on until the next fitness marketing genius convinces me that they are really my friend and will help me in my endless quest for this legendary grail.