I keep reading that one of the keys to being a better cyclist is developing a strong core. "Core". Sounds so solid, doesn't it? Unfortunately, mine is kind of squishy. So how do I work on this core thing?
Yoga. Ok, I don't bend well, nobody wants to see me with my shirt off, and I don't prefer posing like an animal. Except at home, when the kids are in bed. You know what I'm talkin 'bout, Lisa... rawr. Weights. I'm a weenie, and LA Fitness sucks (trust me, been down that road). Beer. This is the program I'm currently on, and apparently its effectiveness has been debunked. Who knew?
Alright, how about pilates? I'll drag my good-sport wife down to the community center and we'll give that a try. We'll call it a date.
Last night was Session 1. Dispensing with formalities (and apparently with the need to make anyone feel comfortable), our instructor got right to it without a word. Wait! Don't we get to introduce ourselves and say why we're here? Aren't you going to tell us what pilates is? Guess not. Let's get straight to stretching this piece of thrift-store spandex while doing exaggerated LeMaze breathing.
Lisa and I struggled to hold back the laughter from the absurdity of it all. We both silent-laughed the first ten minutes, to the point of tears and red faces. I had to consciously avoid making eye contact with her so that I wouldn't pee my fancy athletic shorts. Eventually we settled in. But whenever we caught each other's eye, the same thoughts were running through our heads. Be like a cat? Breathe louder? What the hell do you mean "zip up the thighs"? This is weird. I want a cookie.
And that's why I'll be back next week. My real "core" isn't the squishy middle part of my body. It's the girl on my arm walking into the community center for another adventure in the unknown.