Sweets and sit-ups

In order to maintain my Pilates certification I have to take continuing education credits and not eat cookies. (It's in the requirements: "Trainee will pay us a lot of money, work out until her belly throws up its hands in surrender [or just throws up], and not eat cookies... Until the day she dies"). This month the trainings were "Ring Around the World" and "Small Ball Magic". ... I know you're all thinking it, but this is a family blog. Shame on you!

What the trainings should have been called and are referred to as by the goblins of fitness are "Beater" and "Biter".

After six hours of Pilates focusing on hamstrings, core strength, scapular stabilization, and mental overload, the mind encased and nurtured in said beaten and bitten body, starts to waver in its stalwart conviction that life as we know it should go on. It starts to not care that the fingers it is moving just ended that last sentence with a preposition. It starts to wonder if controlling lung expansion and contraction is really as necessary a function as hanging the mouth open and letting drool trickle out. The mind starts to mistrust a body that is so maliciously inclined that it would take a metal ring, stuff it between its own ankles and do 800 variations of Teaser followed up with a Jackknife chaser. Then it says "Ow" and whimpers... and picks up its child because six hours of abdominal curls later, it's still a mommy.

 TeaserJackknife

Justin and Little Man picked me up after the Inquisition. I noticed a plastic container in the cup holder, but didn't think much of it. The husband usually has some form of coffee within arms reach at all times. Just in case the worst should happen. A few minutes into the drive he said, "We stopped at the SweetTooth Fairy. You can help yourself." It was a plastic cup of cake bites.

Oh, I'm going to go to the special Pilates hell.