It's not an omen

Yesterday morning at Pilates someone

Wait.

Much has happened since we last talked, and one of the things that happened is I started doing Pilates. I stopped going to yoga before the pandemic and, although I walk (almost) every day, I really needed to fit some other form of exercise into my life. It had to be a class, because I'm great at keeping appointments and the absolute worst at doing something that has no fixed schedule. At the beginning of summer 2023 the village hall committee organised a Pilates class to run on Tuesday evenings. Perfect. I joined.
The teacher is brilliant. She does a formal assessment before you join the class, but she's constantly monitoring and spotting when you struggle, when you're injured, when your body isn't doing things the way it's supposed to. She's magic too. One day we were doing a new-to-us thing which the rest of the class clearly found straightforward, whereas my body declared it utterly impossible. I expressed my bogglement. Teacher pondered. 'Ah, it's your hypermobility: you lock your knees all the time and that actually does make it impossible. Just hold this ball between your knees and try again.' Instant success. Magic.

In autumn 2024 I took a deep breath and joined another of her classes, one focused on developing strength. I was apprehensive. I'm old and weak and sometimes scared and always disengage if stuff is too difficult for me. I love strength class. So much. Even when I feel broken afterwards. It's doing good things for my body and for my confidence.

Yesterday morning at Pilates someone the teacher exclaimed how lovely and graceful I looked as I performed something that wasn't quite the intended move, but was my best effort. I don't think anyone has ever described me that way before.