My pilates instructor has a bigger ass than me.

I think it should be a rule that your exercise instructor should look better than you.

I mean, I don’t care if she doesn’t have great hair or a pretty face – I’m not completely shallow.  But it seems to me that anyone charged with helping me get in shape should be in better shape than I am.

The pilates instructor at my gym is older and fatter than me.

Now, I can handle older.  Whatever.  I’m basically 12 in grown up years so every single fitness instructor I’ve ever had has been older than me.  But most of the instructors I’ve had look like they are aging well.  I mean, I think that’s supposed to be one of the key benefits of all this healthy living crap.

This woman looks like she’s older than my mother.  (Apologies to my mother.)

But it’s the fat thing that kills me.  When she walked into class with her mic set on, the first thing I noticed was that her ass was bigger than mine.  Considerably bigger.  And she’s sporting the same pouch as me except her pouch has developed into a full blown spare tire around her midsection from her ribs to her hips.  Oddly enough, that’s the exact same place that I was hoping to slim down with a pilates class.

“Great.  This is going to be a waste of time,” I thought.

As we went through the warm up stretches, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at her detailed instructions on breathing.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth.  Thanks.  I got it, lady.”

I figured she was focusing on the basics to detract from the fact that the rest of the class was going to be a joke.  As I rolled my shoulders back and forth in big, slow circles, I wondered if maybe she was a substitute.  Perhaps the regular instructor was sick and they had to pull someone in from the front office to cover the class.  Or maybe she was new and this class was supposed to be some kind of audition for her or something.  I suppose it is hard to get good instructors at a gym in central Florida suburbia, I thought.

I figured as long as I was here I’d spend the next hour working on my form and review the schedule of classes later in hopes of finding something a bit more challenging.

About 15 minutes later, I was laying on my mat gasping for air and begging God to take me.

While the old, fat lady at the front of the room continued to breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth, I was wheezing in a desperate attempt to stay alive.  She layed on her back and kicked left and right while controlling her core and I wondered where in the hell those muscles in my abdomen that were screaming in pain had come from.  She did crunches and lunges and tiny little pulses and thought for sure my legs were going to dettach from my body in an act of rebellion.

That fat lady kicked my ass.

I kept look back to the front of the room and squinting to see some signs of duress.  Surely if I was having this much trouble, she must be cheating.  There was no way that ass and those abs were keeping up with the insanity she was putting my body through.

In through your nose and out your through mouth.

The woman didn’t miss a breath or a rep.

And all the while I’m thinking to myself, how is it possible that you can endure this and still look like that?

When I finished the class, I decided I had obviously judged this woman too harshly.  Despite her outward appearance, there was no denying that she was in much better shape than I was.

Of course, now I’m wondering what the fuck is the point!??! I endure the hell of exercise in the hopes of seeing some kind of results.  I don’t give a fuck about being able to complete a pilates routine if it means I can be strong as hell and still not be able to fit back into my jeans.  Sure, I’ll probably get less winded when I’m walking up a flight of steps.  But who the hell cares about stairs if I’m never going to get rid of this goddamn pouch?!?!

I am thoroughly confused.  And, it seems, at a crossroads.  I’m seriously tempted to approach her next week and ask her what in God’s name she is eating that allows her to be fit on the inside and flabby on the outside, if only to determine if I should just throw my hands in the air now and say “screw it” to this whole fitness business.

What’s the point of getting healthy if you’re not getting skinny??

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