I tried two new things this week: oysters (a slippery and salty occasion, not to be repeated) and Bootcamp Pilates (also a slippery occasion but, unfortunately, a far more sweaty one).
Bootcamp Pilates. Now there’s an oxymoron. While ‘Pilates’ will fill Fit Freaks with mind-numbing boredom at the thought of lying comatose on a mat and learning how to breathe properly (in through the nose, out through the mouth, in case you’re wondering), ‘Bootcamp’ will reduce the rest of us mere mortals to a trembling heap on the floor at the prospect of military drills and being barked orders at by Sergeant Sadistic who is, of course, shod in thick black boots with which to kick our lazy arses.
With this in mind, it was with great trepidation that, at the crack of dawn, I tiptoed into what I could only imagine would be my torture chamber for the next hour, the Bootcamp Pilates Studio in Fulham. And what a torture chamber it appeared: two rows of terrifying looking machines were regimentally lined out, big, black and beastly. As I approached one, ensuring that it was the closest to the exit for the likely event of an emergency, my mind was further befuddled by the various straps and springs protruding from the machine’s underbelly, ready to tangle me up and spit me back out.
I was beginning to curse my so-called friend who had dragged me along to the class, staked her claim on her ‘favourite’ machine and was presently lying prostrate on said machine with one leg flung effortlessly into the air in a hamstring stretch that would give Hubba Bubba a run for its money.
My mind was put to ease slightly when our instructor, Sam, a rough and ready looking chap, noticing the lone misfit, came over to explain the contraption to me. It's the machinery that differentiates this hardcore Pilates from the traditional no-sweat, mat-based (yawn yawn) version. He introduced me to ‘The Reformer’, my very own passport to a gravity-defying behind. Move over, Pippa Middleton. Imagine a psychiatrist’s couch, but with added ropes, strings and pulleys. “You use heavy springs and lots of repetitions,” he tells me, “to really feel the burn”. Bye bye bingo wings, hello tight thighs and toned tum.
Suddenly there was an explosion of sound. Oh yes, hardcore Pilates is accompanied by music, apparently just so that the less rhythmic amongst us can feel extra special. Immediately the other lycra-clad ladies sprang into well-rehearsed action, lunging, squatting, dipping and push-upping in perfect unison to the music, whilst Sam weaved in and out of the machines, air-drumming along to The Arctic Monkeys and intermittently ejecting exclamations of “tuuuuune!!” or “come on, ten more to go!!” After five minutes I’m already feeling the promised ‘burn’ in my triceps and quads. Now, who said that Pilates was easy?
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| The treacherous Plank |
Attempting the plank on The Reformer is not for the fainthearted. Picture yourself stretched out, hands gripping a box that is precariously balanced on a moving platform, your toes clinging to a fixed bar. One sweaty slip from the tootsies and BAM! You shoot backwards, banana-skin-style, as the machine retracts back to its original shape. Needless to say, yours truly fell victim to this fate. The Reformer:1; Me: 0.
I may not have left my first class as Elastigirl, but my body felt as exhausted as if I’d done a long gym session. The mix of aerobic exercise with deep stretches provides the perfect cocktail to fight the flab, tone up and slim down; it’s little wonder that Nicole Kidman, Jennifer Aniston and Ben Stiller are rumoured to be huge fans. But be warned: these classes will set you back £18 per session, and a great deal of non-refundable dignity. Since the first class is free, however, you may as well give it a go. The world of Pilates is your slippery little oyster.
