Core Of The Matter…

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photo:keenetrial.com

Another day another Pilates, Yoga, Spinning or Total Body workout compliments of my Class Pass.

I have dedicated my workout life to getting to the core of the matter which is the center of all my menopausal issues.

My core…it’s rotten. No, my essence is not any more tainted and corrupt than previously noted.

It’s my midriff. Once you hit a certain age, my endless years of a flat stomach and no midriff have disappeared just like my the once mighty offensive line of the New York Football Giants.

I have become a core fanatic, running to every Pilates studio within 20 miles of my home.

Is it time for liposuction? How else do you deflate your core…starvation?

The doctor’s say middle-aged women inherit baby fat in that area (so to speak). Another reward for getting older. The Devil just keeps piling on.

This week alone I went to my first yoga class and I was the only person there. I knew I would not get into the flow that is why I have avoided yoga for so long. I am a high impact chick. I cannot gracefully transition from one movement to the next. My body goes against the flow. I stagger from downward dog into warrior…some warrior. I’m defeated just making the shift.

There I was with an instructor half my age, half my weight and height and I was her sole disciple. It’s a done deal. I hate yoga.

Tuesday was Pop Physique. Detest it, but do it twice a week. Ballet barre, core, planks…Puke Physique is more like it.

Wednesday was a reprive of sorts. I went spinning at Flywheel and while the class is a killer, I loved it…my kind of punishment.

Pilates Reformer  photo:nyc.lifereformer.com
Pilates Reformer photo:nyc.lifereformer.com

Yesterday it was Pure Pilates Reformer at Zen Fitness…14 miles from home and two freeways and 60 minutes later, I was dealing with  a new approach to torture. The horizontal rack is barbaric.  I got through the class by humoring myself with the thought that I was in a scene from 50 Shades of Grey.

Doesn’t anyone my age ever go to these classes? Their frickin’ cores are all toned and flat. I would love to tell the twentysomething peeps the truth, but why ruin the next 30 years of their lives.

There is a bit of good news. All does not suck. Remarkably, I still have hair on my head, virtually no cellulite and I am still standing.

When I was younger, core was all about apples, selecting a major at university and the central part of a celestial body. Now the core of my celestial body is the bane of my existence.

photo: theperimenopauseblog.com
DISCLAIMER: This in not me. photo: theperimenopauseblog.com

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