Exorcising...Exercising

So, my friend Cici tells me that at her gym class, there are some fun women, and I should go and check it out.
At first, I was wondering if this is Cici's very tactful way of getting me to work out, or if it is her way of torturing my hamstrings, or if it is her way of bringing me to show and tell. Regardless, it doesn't really matter to me as I enjoy spending time with her, the class sounded challenging, and who cares if she is bringing me to show and tell? S brought underwear to show and tell...it's all good.
So, this morning, I dig out some workout clothes. Literally. Dig. My yoga capris, all the rage last century, were under about 40 pounds of crap that I wear even slightly more often than work out clothes. Like Halloween costumes. And sexy lingerie.
Then, I realize I haven't shaved my legs since winter began. And when ol' Puxatawney Phil saw his shadow, I was like, "cool. No shaving for six more weeks of winter!" My legs are so hairy, that S was looking at them, looking at his legs, and said, "Look mommy, you have fur, too!" This mammalian trait isn't really a problem during the winter months because I only ever wear jeans, but my slightly shorter, stretched out, old yet seldom worn yoga capris show some calf hair. (haha. Calf hair, like moo.)
We get to the pilates studio, and as I think I have mentioned before it wasn't until this last decade that I learned that pilates does not rhyme with pirates. It's French, you know. Anyway, the exercise equipment for pilates is basically a souped up rowing machine. Only you use your body to row. Feet, arms, hands, whatever contortionist limb the instructor can think of pull you along and back along the main bar. Resistance is provided by a series of springs and is exerted in only one direction. Some of the exercises are yoga-ish and it's relatively easy to control the body while doing them. Some of the exercises rely more heavily on the contraption-nature of this so-called reformer machine and require significant coordination. And some of the exercise are just plain gynecological in nature. At one point, I had my feet in two stirrups, and in completing a horizontal jumping jack-style maneuver pulled myself along and back on the reformer. I had this vision of my legs, trapped in these straps, splitting apart and winding up parallel to my torso in some sort of Barbie doll-amputation mishap.
To be clear, I haven't truly exercised since the Bush Administration. I will walk, but that is all. Ironically, or, probably not at all ironically, but fittingly, I cannot jog anymore because my weight is too much of a burden for my knees. So, here I am, in this near silent studio, the only sound being concentrated inhalation and exhalation, and some idle gossip between two participants, and all I can think of is the horrific sound that will explode when I lose control of the muscles of my inner thighs, and my hips give out, and suddenly my ankles are behind my ears, and I will resemble a disjointed turkey on the carving table.
Inhale (ohgodohgodohgodohgod don't let me tear in half.) Exhale (ohgodohgodohgod, don't let me make an ass of myself.) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgod, I probably look like a spastic albino wookiee getting electrocuted right now.) Exhale (ohgodohgodohgod am I doing this right? This can't be right.) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgod. Holy crap look at Cici's shoulders! She is buff. I'm so jealous.) Exhale (ohgodohgodohgod. I could be at home drinking Starbucks and watching The Penguins of Madagascar right now. That doesn't hurt my inner thighs at all.) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgodohgod, how are my abs supposed to pull up my legs? That's what my legs are for, to pull their own damn selves up!) Exhale (ohgodohgodohgod, my hamstrings are going to hurt so much tomorrow, I won't be able to sit to pee.) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgod, why are there mirrors from the floor to the ceiling?) Exhale (ohgodohgodohgod, I am ENORMOUS. And have far more chins than I used to.) Inhale (ohgodohgod, seriously, those Penguins are funny. And they don't judge me.) Exhale (ohgodohgod, people can see me. I only do this move when I'm home. In bed. Alone, for god's sake.) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgod, seriously, what is with the mirrors?) Inhale (ohgodohgodohgod, I'm breathing in, I should be breathing out.) Exhale (ohgodohgod, I can't even breathe right. I shouldn't be here.) Inhale (ohgodohgod, I can totally believe that a Frenchman invented this. He's probably laughing his dead ass off right now that he convinced people to get on a modified sex swing, stretching their muscles, contorting like circus freaks, and paying money to do it.) Exhale (ohmygodohmygod, I can't believe how uncoordinated I am. If I were redheaded this would be a Lucy sketch.) Inhale (ohmygodohmygod. They're right to laugh at me. This can't be right. I'm doing it wrong. I just know it. Look, the instructor isn't even trying to correct my formless attempts at following her instructions. She thinks I'm an idiot.) Inhale (Ohmygod. She's right.)