Yesterday bore immensely satisfying testament that my "Ah, Fuck-It" Manifesto indeed suits me right down to the nipply winter ground. Lately narcoleptic beyond measure for reasons unknown ~ though I do unhesitatingly finger an unwelcome revisitation by Count Anemia as a likely culprit ~ I intended only to do the one class for which I'd registered myself earlier in the week, to be followed by a short one-hour nap before wreaking some serious damage on cerebral editing work for a friend. With vision impressionistic from massive tear-filled yawns, I wearily removed my boots at the entrance of my studio at 8:57 that morning, only to find myself accosted by a dear instructor friend who demanded why I wasn't registered for her class at 10am.
"Uh..." I gestured helplessly, uselessly, with one hand in my fuzz-filled haze, and hearing no real excuse, she merrily commanded Chuckling Receptionist to sign me up. "Everyone's been bailing since snow week, so it'll only be you and your evil cackling cohort, Miss Judy. Come on, you know it'll be fun. And since when do you ever just do one class?"
Thus, I gamely soldiered my way through that first intended session with my awesome ex-architect instructor at 9, followed by a gruelling advanced flow class with my 65-year-old girlfriend right afterwards, throughout which we were making faces at each other and trying not to laugh ourselves into crippling accidents with the equipment. Shaking with exertion and giggles at some of our fumbled transitions accompanied by clangings from occasionally-dropped straps, somehow we made it through without needing to raid the first aid kit.
While wiping up at the end of session two, one of the fabulous teachers-in-training came in to announce she needed students for her next class as no one had yet signed up at all. Seeing no volunteers and feeling very badly for her, I thought, "Ah, fuckit" and offered myself up to her mercy... and ended up privileged with a free private. She asked what I wanted to work on, I requested all my favourite or much-needed exercises and stretches, and she very happily obliged. After our hour, she had a second class she needed to fill. With only one other student registered, I obligingly stayed for that, too.
At that point, I realized: There must be a record I could break. Maybe I already broke it.
Slipping my boots back on after my fourth hour at the studio, I asked the receptionist what the current attendence record was. "Well... up until today, it was a tie between you and Miss Judy, with each of you clocking in at three hours. But if you're interested, there's another new teacher coming in who needs students to fill her class at 2pm. Actually, we're joking. There's no way you'd want to do another class."
The gauntlet was thrown.
Ah, fuckit. I was in before I could even think, "Noooooo."
Thus, in the lunch-break hour before the next class, I stopped at the grocery across the street, grabbed a soy chai mocha plus my first bite of the day, walked about fifty minutes around the neighbourhood and down to the lake, then back for one last class.
And it was great. Five hours of highly-concentrated Pilates, and I felt completely fine.
After wiping down the gear for my very last time that day, I jogged back just in time to receive the kids from their schoolbus, took them home and got them showered up, pj'ed, and settled comfortably with some after-school snacks and a knitting neighbour. Then...
Bolted back to join beloved Muay Thai Baker with Little Rebel half a block from my studio for a fabulous end to a record-breaking jour. All that crazy-mad excitement ~ coupled with over seven miles walked and ran throughout the course of the day ~ culminated in a becoming-sorer-by-the-second today... yet a super happy one at that.
Despite needing to leave halfway through the tattoo appointment and therefore unable to get shots of the fresh and final beauty, I daresay my Manifesto has proven itself quite an unmitigated success thus far.
Yes, indeedy: Yesterday's smashing game goes to... "Ah, Fuck-It."
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