So I tried a Pilates class at the Y yesterday.

Outside.

On the roof.

At noon.

(In August)

And yes.

I would like a medal.

Or if you don’t have a medal, a slice of caramel cake would be nice.

Developed in ancient times (the early 1900s), Pilates is designed to put your core muscles to work.

This is all well and good if your core muscles are accustomed to having a job. But mine married straight out of high school and have never worked a day in their lives. They don’t even volunteer. So, you can imagine what a star that made me in class.

“Anyone new to Pilates?” the teacher asked.

I was the only one who raised my hand.

Not that I needed to. It would be obvious soon enough.

While the others were lying on their backs, making “a table” with their legs, I was making a chaise lounge. (The better to stretch out and die on.)

Breathing (another essential part of Pilates, according to the experts) also proved to be a problem. Every time I started to inhale, the teacher would say, “And exhale.” And every time I started to exhale, she’d say, “And breathe in.” So I split the difference and hyperventilated softly to myself for 45 minutes.

By the end of the class, I wasn’t invigorated; I was exhausted.

“How did it go?” my husband asked.

“I don’t think Pilates is for me,” I told him.

“Why not?”

I massaged my aching sides.

“I don’t know exactly,” I said. “It’s just a feeling I have; deep in my core.”