Yesterday I spent a session activating my core – squeezing the abdominals, lifting the muscles, wrapping the obliques. While these are neither new terms nor techniques, personal attention to the task makes all the difference. This was my first session with the Pilates instructor. Months ago I bought a group coupon online for three sessions in a reformer studio. It looked like a good deal and I was excited to check it out. Turns out it was better than I imagined. Specifically, each student is required to have an introduction and assessment before they are allowed to attend the group reformer classes. While I thought I knew what was expected and what I was doing, it turns out that if someone is holding a stick to my spine, there’s a bit more engagement to reach for.
Our time together included the studio tour, equipment information, instructional cues, and then the assessment. At the end, I was sweating up a storm, much like I had been though a full workout. I appreciated the time and attention the instructor gave to tweak my body alignment and encourage my effort in the movement. I thought I would go for my coupon sessions and then work on my own, but I can see the advantage of having direct support as I learn to self-adjust.
Between sessions at the studio, I will practice on my Total Gym. Yes, I bought it. Not the fancy dancy one, though it still exist in my longing, but a basis model that will allow me to follow along at home. I had been working out with the arm exercises and some legs up for core, but after my studio instruction it takes very little to feel great effort.
In other areas, I am exploring my passion for writing. My desire to write extends back into childhood, though it was not safe to write outside of school projects. During my early college years I kept extensive personal journals and the poetic sagas of a young woman’s heartbreak. I’ve attended several writing workshops and classes and even as I recognize this shift in work priorities, I am drawn to return to the passion of my core.
I used to imagine I would sit at my desk, tall glass of whiskey and ice, wearing a white lace slip, drunk and writing – alone in the house. Turns out I don’t make a bit of sense when I drink and write. Pages of rambling without a thread to pull, not a shred to connect one thought to another. It’s a dream I let be.
Ten weeks to go. Two months until I give notice. It seems my list of things to do is growing so that I know I must find a way to live this life I imagine. There are books and blogs and articles to write, photographs to take and post, videos to make, skirts to sew, rooms to paint, bread to bake, crocheting, dancing, playing, gardening, traveling, singing, leaping and shouting for joy! Oh, and teaching – my heart yearns to teach.
Even though I thought I was working from my core, given a bit of personal attention, I could feel so much more depth, both in that session and as I have continued this walk through life.
I am alive at my core.
I live and move from my core.
I am awake and aware at the core of my being.