Who knew that I could be so bad on my back. After years of practice you would think I would be a pro. But, alas, I am challenged.

Get your mind out of the gutter. I am talking about my pilates class. Twice a week I take a demanding class from inspirational instructor and torturer, Marti Bradley. She is amazing, a formidable task master, and it all hurts so good. I resent the class when I am in it, but love it when it is over.

The truth be told, I cannot accept the fact that I am not great at something, no matter how hard I try. I think that my spinning obsession hinders my pilates flexibility and my ability to excel at extended table top (excuses).

For me, pilates is a necessity and the key to productive golden years. Without a core, you are destined to struggle and walk like Quasimoto. Just spend some time in south Florida and you will see full evidence of what happens when you ignore the core.

This is a better gift for yourself than a Chanel bag because it lasts and keeps on giving. Lousy analogy, but you know what I mean. Chanel lasts so maybe Prada.

The pilates positions are rigorous. I’d rather walk the plank than hold one for 5 sets. And balancing…I am much better at reconciling a checkbook than standing on one foot holding on to my kneecap. I hope I am emotionally more stable than I appear to be on one foot.

I guess you have to suffer for your craft and good health. As Marti, the Princess of Pilates says after we have all collapsed and commenced moaning from holding the position, “Delicious.”