Humour
Rediscovering the waist
APARNA KARTHIKEYAN
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Finding oneself unable to fit into one's favourite pair of jeans can have alarming consequences...
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OF course, everybody is born with a waist; it's just that mine no longer exists. This is the simple truth I discovered a few weeks back, while trying on my best pair of jeans. Unfortunately, this happened the day I read that Victoria Beckham (after three kids!) wears a custom-made pair to fit her teeny 23-inch waist, while mine is... no, I won't tell you, but they're much, much bigger. Waah! I want to rediscover my waist...
Considering the options
Since it generally takes wild horses to drag me away from waffles and preserves, and any diet I embark on lasts all of two days, I was left with little choice but to exercise and burn some calories. Only, my idea of "exercise" till that fateful day was to sit quietly in a corner and breathe gently. My friends however convinced me that "gentle breathing" burnt only about eight calories per week, and I simply had to try out the gym, which was currently all the rage, worked wonders, besides making one feel happy and energetic! Completely brain-washed, I signed up for my two-week free-trial...
The highly recommended neighbourhood gym turned out to be this really swanky place, kitted-out with acres of gleaming machines, populated solely by startlingly fit men and women. Just as I was wondering where all the fat people were, a model (whom I later discovered to be the receptionist) took me for a "tour of the facilities". Lightly perspiring, slightly overwhelmed, I didn't so much as get my bearings, before an amazingly fit trainer whisked me away to try the machines, many of which looked straight out of a medieval torture chamber. "Start off with your cardio-workouts and then top it off with the weights," he concluded, and left me to my devices.
First, I got on to the stationary bike; recommended time — 10 minutes. My bike whirred away, as I enthusiastically pedalled it, for ... one minute. Gosh, it was hard work, and I was terribly unfit. At the end of six minutes, I (puff-pant) gave up; and moved on to the next task — the funny looking elliptical trainer, designed to tax every possible muscle in the limbs. Blessed with little co-ordination and lesser stamina, I quit after precisely 176 seconds.
After the cardio (groan!), I tackled the "weights"... one of them an extraordinary chair-like contraption, which, when I pulled the weights towards me, neatly rolled me up into a ball, while another attempted to draw and quarter me at once. Tired, breathless and completely lost amidst all that machinery, I decided that, endorphins or not, the gym wasn't for me.
So what next?
Coming up with excuses to shoot down every activity, including walking (weather lousy, doesn't invite me outdoors), I was getting nowhere. And that's when I saw this poster about Pilates classes and having absolutely no idea what it was all about, signed up for it...
With some trepidation, I turned up for my first class, and all my hopes that the instructor would put me at ease vanished! For she, the instructor, was extremely trim (I was later stunned to discover that she was pushing 60) wearing spray-painted leotards, and spoke to us as if we were naughty five-year-olds. Not a very encouraging start! The class soon commenced with an easy warm-up, but the next bit, which necessitated the skills of a contortionist, and the strength of an ox, made me wish I were in the gym mindlessly pedalling the aerobic bike. However, the rest of it was simply superb and I felt so blissfully relaxed, like I had stepped out of a hot bath! (It was only the next day that I realised Pilates was also a thorough lesson in anatomy. Muscles that I never knew existed groaned, protested and expressed their displeasure!) But after only a couple of classes, I was hooked and I cheerfully announced, to all and sundry, that I had found my salvation. In turn, all and sundry took great pains to explain that they thought Pilates was oh-so boring, almost soporific, and I was clearly crazy if I thought I was going to shed pounds striking pretty poses on the mat.
Different strokes
But that is the whole point really. Exercise and shoes follow the same maxim — one size certainly doesn't fit all! While some quail at the very thought, others derive great pleasure pumping iron; and if kick-boxing is what works for some, yoga might be best for others! Following trends is all very well in fashion (that is, if you ridiculously believe you can carry off something that was originally intended for an androgynous model!) But attempting the same in exercise is downright foolish. Obviously, some forms of exercise may be more effective or work much faster. Perhaps if I had stuck it out with the machines (albeit very unhappily) I might, even as I write this, be able to see my toes! Pilates might take its time to help me get back into my favourite jeans but I'll patiently, cheerfully, wear drawstring pyjamas till that happy day...
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