Twisted

I'm a huge fan of the Stott pilates class at my gym. It involves all kinds of fun little props- the stability ball, the fitness circle, the resistance bands, the hand weights. It builds core strength and gives me a chance to do something that doesn't require any technology- no treadmill, no iPod, no TV, just me and my muscles. What I'm not a huge fan of is the crazy bizarro instructor. While she's walking around the class observing different people she has no problem with grabbing limbs and twisting them into different positions. I hold my breath when she walks by me, praying that she doesn't find anything wrong with my form. Once she was molding another woman's arm position from behind and leaned around her, rested her head on the woman's shoulder, said something barely audible about her clavicle, and as she walked on to the her next hapless victim I heard the woman whimper,

"She smells like tuna".

Her instructions are vague and somewhat inappropriate, things like: "Pull your shoulder blades down and together, as if I had reached up under your shirt and was pulling down on your bra strap." Umm... huh? How 'bout you don't do that. Her eyes are always half-lidded and she's forever making comments I don't quite get: "Good, people, good. The energy in this room is healing. You're healing me. The energy is circulating, you're creating energy. Warmth floods the room." In the full-wall mirror at the front of the room, I can see the other's expressions. Their eyes are saying: Damn you, woman! You can't actually "create" energy! Just shut up and let us work our obliques!

It doesn't matter where you place your mat- the very back, the very front, way off to the side behind a pillar- oh, no. She'll hunt you down and make sure your joints are ratcheted to the maximum degree possible. Needless to say, her presence gives me one more reason to make sure I am concentrating on my breathing and positioning... lest she decide she wants a little hugging/bra-pulling time with yours truly.