Just don't forget to breath...
I am reluctant to share the following thing with you, as I want to keep it all to myself. I don’t want people to start going to this and then I can’t get in and then because of my big mouth I can’t do my favorite thing anymore.
But, for the greater good and because I am SO NICE, I will let you in on this.
It’s my pilates teacher. Elizabeth. She is so great that she is like Madonna or Cher or Britney and no longer needs a last name. (Plus they don’t put it on the schedules so I don’t know it.) She is my instructor at 12th Street Gym and she also teachers at the ever wonderful Lithe Pilates in NoLibs.
If you’ve ever taken pilates you will know that you can do it one of two ways: (a) you flop around on the floor and think it’s crazy easy and don’t understand why you’re there or (b) you concentrate on what the teacher says and you’re surprisingly beat up by the end of the session. What makes Elizabeth so special is that not only does she manage to squeeze in a TON of exhausting moves into the hour but also she has the care to really teach. She walks around adjusting the moves, she’ll stop the class to give the tips that make you actually do the moves right, and all sorts of things which help you on the way to getting those yummy pilates abs.
Plus, she’s just bloody nice. When I’m forcing myself to sit in a mirrored room with a bunch of dancers in lycra and attempt to move like them, it’s nice to have an instructor that lets you feel less like the elephant in the room.
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