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by
Kimra Traynor Herb
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A Greenhouse with a Pilates Course

I am not one easily swayed by peer pressure. In high school, I never once had as much as a sip of alcohol- I was strong enough in my convictions to avoid situations that would lead me to trouble. So how is that I ended up, at the age of forty, on a mat, in a converted greenhouse, sweating it out to a Pilates course?

In case anyone has forgotten- I hate to sweat. I really abhor exercise in general, and Pilates, I was told (later, much later) is the Mt. Everest of the exercise range. And yet....... It had started innocently. One of the moms on the soccer field told of this course starting up right here in my 'burb, and, she enthused, wouldn't it be fun if we all took the class together?

And you know, I guess my brain was frozen, or asleep, or something, because somehow, when she put it that way- it DID sound fun! And yes, I'd sign up that very day for the course which wouldn't start until way down the line in June......

Little by little information started trickling into my consciousness that this could be a bad mistake for me. One of my friends told me that he had heard that they were holding the class in the old greenhouse, sans air-conditioning, because on of the principles of Pilates involved a good, frothy sweat.

I stared at him long at hard at that bad news. "What do you mean, sweat?" I said, and then a few more words registered. "What do you mean, no air conditioning?!" I yelped. He explained that he had been on a tour of the spa where the class would be offered, because he had been there to purchase his wife a nice package of the star treatment- massage, facial, etc. While he was touring the facility, the manager told him that the Pilates class would be held in the old converted greenhouse- which would be ideal as you were supposed to be good and hot while straining those muscles.

When I told my  hubby about this alarming bit of news, he dismissed it as heresy. "He was just pulling  your leg." He soothed. "I've never heard that you have to be hot."

I worried about that a lot. I really don't like to be hot. In fact, living in the south is only possible for me due to the most glorious of all glorious inventions- air conditioning. Man, I love that cool stuff. In my home, in my car, in the mall, I never stop to thank who ever it was that created such an amazing and wonderful thing like cool air in the subtropic summer of Alabama.

But then it turned out to be true. The class was in the greenhouse, and apparently, according to Tammy and Tiffany, my Pilates instructors, this was good, all good. They flexed their tanned, young, toned bodies and told us that sweating was good for removing all the toxins from the body- but just remember to keep hydrated.

When I want the toxins out of my body; I take a bath. This is a heck of a lot easier than sweating like a pig with my hair all frizzified from the humidity in front of a bunch of other women. Only too bad for me. Because for the next ten weeks, it seems, I am going to stretching my poor ole bod into all kinds of uncomfortable positions in the hot greenhouse and soon I am going to grow to LIKE it, Tiffany and Tammy promise.

Tiffany and Tammy do not know me. I may come to the class, stretch out my yoga mat and grumble my way through the exercises like a champ. I may even manage to tone a few muscles on the way. But I will NEVER grow to LIKE it- I am just not hardwired that way.

The first class I yacked so incessantly that one woman had to beg me to stop. "I can't stop laughing long enough to do the exercise!" She pleaded, between guffaws. I apologized, saying that my spontaneous comments were really how I felt but I would keep my voice lower. Two seconds later, I was back at it again. "This isn't natural." I hissed to my friend Karen, as we attempted to stretch our legs into an impossible position. "My legs are SHAKIN'! Is that normal, do you think?"

Tammy, over hearing this, encouraged that some shaking muscles would be normal at first, but just wait, hey, oh man , oh man, soon those shaking jelly muscles would be thighs o' steel and my abs would be like rocks.

The only rocks, I said to Karen, in my body, were the rocks in my head for once in my life caving in to peer pressure that would in the end, most likely kill me in the case of this Pilates course. Life was much smoother (and cooler) for me back when I didn't listen to my friends.