Creaky joints and naughty dogs

Should you be wandering past the Station House in Campsea Ashe on a Tuesday morning (non-Suffolk readers, unless you’re making a pilgrimage, this is unlikely to be you), you’ll see four or five ladies of mature years lying on mats finding their neutral pelvises and drawing chalk circles in the air. One of those ladies is me. Now you know.

Back in my early thirties, living in Essex and working in London, I attended a twice-weekly Pilates class run by an amazing woman called Melissa. She was full of beans, mixing up standard Pilates technique with lots of pair work, stretching and floor exercises. When I joined, I wasn’t particularly limber, but by the time I’d been with her for a few months, I could touch my toes without bending my knees (still can, in fact) and do all kinds of stretchy things. I even taught the class once or twice when she was ill. Dear me, the elasticity of youth!

Melissa’s class had almost mystical powers. I was employed at the Department of Psychology at UCL back then, and worked closely with all the Masters and PhD students. One day, one of them sank into the chair in my office, eyes closed and sighed, heavily. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through the day,” she complained. “I overdid it a bit last night.” I recommended the class – sure enough, after an hour of stretching, extending and bending she was as good as new.

I left the Department in 1998 and did another Pilates class somewhere else, taught by a woman called Melissa. A pattern was emerging. Fast forward to 2020 and I noticed a post on Facebook from a lady advertising her Pilates classes. This particular form of exercise had always worked for me and I got in touch and joined up. Sure enough, the instructor’s name was Melissa. I don’t know if there is some kind of rule that Pilates classes can only be taught by people bearing this name, or if Melissas naturally gravitate to this kind of work. We may never know.

 Anyway, back to Campsea Ashe on a Tuesday morning. Melissa Three is fantastic. This week, she had us doing something called the Mermaid. I could do it on one side, but not the other. Last week, we lay on our backs rolling our heads around on a semi-deflated ball. Gosh, it felt good. There was much sighing and creaking. For some reason, the right side of my body is not nearly as agile as the left. I have no idea why this might be.

Last week, we celebrated my father’s 95^th birthday on the Monday. We had a large Indian takeaway, including a particularly delectable dish of tarka dhal. One of Melissa’s exercises, about three quarters through the class, involves assuming the four-point position then alternating the naughty dog and the cat. I was a little concerned about the lentils. I won’t lie to you. I confided my worry to my friend Barbara at the beginning of the lesson and there were explosions. But only of laughter. As we pushed our navels up towards our spines then went down into the aforesaid naughty dog, I kept my eyes firmly fixed on my mat. Barbara and I are notorious for outbursts of helpless laughter at inappropriate moments. 

Fortunately, all was well. I managed to end on a series of shoulder rolls and spine stretching without anything untoward shattering the calm.

I’m not the greatest at self-care, but I’ve got a lot better since lock down. My weekly Pilates class is an oasis of calm in a busy week, with a bit of creaking and grunting but lots of laughing too. I love doing it in a building which has been refurbished and restored by a community group and is now being run by them too. It doesn’t hurt that they do the best hot chocolate for miles around – a delightful end to all those naughty dogs, mermaids, neutral pelvises and shoulder rolls.

Note to self – don’t have curry on a Monday night.

Images by Unsplash and Pixabay

Ruth is a freelance writer and novelist. She is married with three children, one husband, four budgies, six quail, eight chickens and a kitten. Her first novel, “The Diary of Isabella M Smugge”, published by Instant Apostle, comes out in March 2021. She writes for a number of small businesses and charities and blogs at Big Words and Made Up Stories. Ruth is a recovering over-achiever who is now able to do the school run in her onesie most days. She has abnormally narrow sinuses and a morbid fear of raw tomatoes, but has decided not to let this get in the way of a meaningful life. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter at ruththewriter1.