I’ve been avoiding the gym out of pure laziness. And since my medical aid sent me a polite warning that I better get back to sweating before I lose my benefits, I thought it was time to rejoin the fitness fanatics. So I took my sinuses and slight flu-ridden body off to the gym this evening, ready for a relaxed evening of pilates. It seemed like a great idea where I could de-stress and convince myself that I was exercising.
Have you ever noticed that there is a hierarchy at the gym? At the top are those who know what every single machine is used for, they are kitted out in matching gym attire and are properly sweating. Way down a few levels you will find me, someone who feels it necessary to bring my phone, my iPod and a book to get me through 45 minutes of minimal exertion.
I walked into quite a zen space with around 10 ladies of different age groups. I was definitely the youngest there and probably the most inflexible. I started doing my thing, holding my own and it actually wasn’t so bad trying to push my body to the limits. Our instructor was Jonathan who I couldn’t tell if he was cute or not since I refuse to fully geek out and wear my glasses.
We apparently warm up, by then I was already breathless and my hair was clinging to my cheeks. We then had to lay on our backs and put our legs on top of a large bouncy ball and thrust our hips upwards. Hmmm, this is quite a fun thing to practice. I realised I’m definitely better doing certain stretches on my back than ….well never mind. Pilates can be quite sexy. I’ve heard in movies how guys dream about hooking up with a pilates or yoga practitioner as if that means something- I certainly don’t see myself performing such things. Plus a giant ball would make things quite complicated yeah?
At some point I close my eyes while thrusting into space, focussing on my breathing. At this point Jonathan decides that its time we bounce and grabs my legs and makes me bounce and thrust. I didn’t dear open my eyes, but he was laughing and I was giggling and it was torture because I don’t want to be the yoga slut of my class in front of these middle-aged, boring housewives. After what I think was more than 10 sets, he really isn’t so skilled with keeping track, I was released and lay breathless on the map.
This continued over the next hour, he found ways of making me clench and squeeze and thrust and open and I was definitely engaging in full on mind sex. Each time I flopped back down on the mate, he walked away with smug satisfaction and my body felt used and sated. I was shuddering, turned on and struggling to breathe. Upon reflection he was definitely a pervert and I hope I wasn’t the only one who noticed his erection during our “warm down”.
Will I be back? Most likely. Who am I to deny the pleasure of endorphins and fulfilling the dream of sleeping with the pilates instructor?