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2002-11-14 - 10:09 p.m. Exercise Junk(ie) "Picture your bellybutton moving inward and up towards the back of your spine." Huh? "Suck in your gut." Oh. Gotcha. This was my first foray into the wonderful world of Pilates. Founded by Joseph Pilates, it�s a mystical realm where everyone is stick thin and double-jointed. When I paid for the class, the teacher counted off my change by using her rib cage as an abacus. I�ve taken three classes so far and I really think that this is the exercise program for me. Sure, I felt that way about yoga but that was before I tried to do �The Crow� and fell hard on the wood floor. . . luckily my face broke the fall. Of course my pride was far more wounded, wait no, it was definitely my face. That hurt much worse. Then there was that time that I decided to start training for the marathon. I joined the Prospect Park Track Club and we all ran together through the park� well they all ran, I hobbled along for a quarter of a mile before slinking off to Connecticut Muffin for a Chai Latte. But just because those things didn�t work out for me, or the half dozen pieces of exercise equipment that are collecting dust in my hall closet, there�s no reason that Pilates won�t work out. Right? So, I�m an exercise floozy alright! Jeez, you do a little experimenting in your youth (Hey 30 is still young!) and people think you�re easy. Like any hard body with a plastic step or a pair of dumbbells can come along and have their way with my wallet! Well, okay, you are probably right but do you have to rub my nose in it. What? Oh, so if I rub that under my nose it�ll decrease my appetite/ make my boobs bigger/ give my hair more body/ I�ll grow two inches taller/ my feet will shrink/ my breath will be fresh/ boys and people will love me forever? Okay, here�s my wallet. Take whatever you think is fair. I trust you. Drink of the Day: A shot of Wheat grass, followed by a shot of Tequila! � 
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