This morning, while sitting at work (that's right, on a Saturday) sipping a caramel macchiato (grande, extra caramel -- I'm trying to quit) and gearing myself up for the big project that stood between me and the rest of the weekend, I found myself reminiscing about the Saturday morning in October when I woke up at the crack of dawn not for work, but for a beginner's class at Real Pilates in Tribeca. After recovering from nearly knocking myself out as I attempted to use the big, scary, Pilates bar, I felt pretty good about the experience...until the next morning, when I realized that Pilates had rendered me immobile.
Traumatic memories aside, I think I'm going to give Pilates another shot. Not because I want every part of my body to ache again, but because if I'm not careful, the only exercise I get will be my morning walks to work. And my walks to Starbucks, of course.
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