Pilates is like death

Or at least that's what I told someone at the kickoff party on Sunday. Today marked my third pilates class ever, and I think I'm getting the hang of it. I mean, I'm not Michelle, our instructor, by any means. She's a dancer, and she has great turnout and extension and all those other dance-y terms. (I'm serious. She's got great form.) I may not have all that, but I only had to stop about three times today and let my muscles stop seizing up like melted chocolate that needs a hit of cream...

Mmm. Chocolate.

Anyway, Shawn tells me I have the length of limb to be graceful. She insists I look like this.



(Well, she says gazelle and this is an antelope, but I'm a Colorado girl and antelope are indigenous)

I figure I look more like this:



A baby water buffalo, you ask? Absolutely. Not entirely awful too look at, but a little blunder-y.

Still, in keeping with my resolve yesterday to be kinder to myself, I can say I felt calmer and more in tune with my body today, and that all in all, I did good, even if my butt, like Shawn's, is broken.

Edited to add:

Michelle was nice enough to take extra time after class to show me ankle exercises that I can do to strengthen my ligaments and tendons and muscles. I really appreciated the insights, and I've gotten a couple of stretchy bands to use at home! Thanks, Michelle.
Peace, folks!

Lorna