PAL-lates: A love story

11406914_10153482089593755_2504076508017785536_n My PALate and me. photo via  Emily Wagner. 

This week on, I wrote about Pilates. I also wrote about PALates, which are pals you go to Pilates with, which, for me, has made ALL the difference. Behold: 

For the last ten years, whenever anyone has so much as mentioned working out or hitting the gym or joining a gym or taking a class or, you know, EXERCISE, I've responded with the same stock answer.

"There's just no time you guys. There just isn't any time."

It's always been true, of course. It still is true. But only because there will never be time for the things that are important to my well-being unless I commit to making them a priority. It is so easy to write that in a sentence on a computer, but this has been a daily struggle for me my whole life. I do not know how to put my physical well-being first or even second. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth...

...It's so cliche, isn't it? The parent who shleps her kids to six extra-curricular activities a week but cannot find the time to commit to one class for herself. I have wanted to smack myself in the face for not DOING what I KNOW I should be doing on so many occasions.

And then, six weeks ago, everything changed...

....It takes a village to raise a family but it takes a friend to raise a woman from the depths of her own pile of excuses. It does for me, anyway.

When I think of SQUAD GOALS, I think of PARTNERS, not POSSES.

And Chelsea spoke to my SOUL when she asked me to join her as her plus one. Sometimes one needs to be invited into a new lifestyle in order to attend one. Or something.

"I'm in," I said, before ordering a full month of classes and setting my alarm for 5:30am the following morning.

I immediately regretted it, of course. Waking up in the pitch dark, cursing as I stepped into my Yoga pants. But then? I thought of Chels. Up at the same fucking bullshit hour. Cursing the alarm and her own shoe she could not find the match to.

We were in this thing together. And it felt really good.

That was fifteen classes ago. Not one of which we have missed. Three days a week, at the buttcrack of dawn, I show up at Chelsea's place, text "I'm here!" and away we go into the nightday...
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It has not been easy, of course. Waking up in the pitch dark. Barely being able to walk for the first two weeks. Getting yelled at by Glen who is quite possibly the scariest instructor of anything I have ever known. Not to mention the fact that our pilates studio is a magnet for West Hollywood's hottest supermodels, all of whom are in incredible shape and can do one-handed planks like it's nothing.

But fuck it, you know? We're in this thing together. Cursing and sweating and wearing the clothes we slept in the night before. We may be hot messes but we are hot messes AS A TEAM and that, for me, has made all the difference.

When you have a pal to whisper profanities to, anything is possible. When you feel like you might pass out and die, having someone you adore on the megaformer beside you makes it feel kind of worth it.
Solidarity. It's a powerful thing...
You can read my entire post, here...