Michael Miller Pilates

Pilates Story 4 / Ditzy Little

"Oh yes, I certified with them back in god-knows-how-long-ago, and then the physical therapy group, and then spiro group before them, last year it was that pair out in greeley, saw him before he died, once.  He had the most amazing way of bending backwards in his upper body.  After all these year's I think it was genetic. Anyway, he's dead now. And she is a sequestered away trying to make her way through inaccessabliity. So I did certs with NIA and Yoga, became a PT, did the gyro, and all those  Pialtes certs I've already mentioned...did I tell you about all the volunteer work at the hospital with yes-that's-who? Ah, I learned so much there.  I tell you, what makes people think they can teach?  Education is the way, the more the better, I plan on getting certificates until the day I die." Ditzy easily earned her name, but there was always some skewed thread of truth in her banter.

"This program makes my fifth.  Next I'm going after you-know-what's-his-name? The recluse?  I've written him a letter, I should be hearing from him any day now." Her face lifted and her nose made the exclaimation point."

L'xs almost laughted outright, but luckily she wasn't directly participating in this conversation and went unnoticed in what appeared to be her choking on her drink.

A Pilates Story 3

"Welcome, everyone, especially to all the new trainees." My name is Amanda Blake and I am the director of the training program. "The training program you have been accepted into is the most rigorous program in the world, the most elite, the most prestigeous."

There were over a dozen attentive faces, scattered around the studio, some on the floor, their backs against the wall, a couple  seated in their own mini-lawn chairs as though they had experience with these training sessions and knew how to be comfortable.  One woman was seated on a mat, in the lotus position, spine erect, shoulders back, palms gently nested in her lap, a dead give away that her background was in yoga.

Amanda was seated in the middle of the cadillac, her long legs crossed at the knees, her arms reaching through the edge of the cadillac, supporting her.  Amanda's hair was pulled tight around her head into a bun, such a round head that she had the appearance of a maniquin.  High cheek bones, and a small round mouth, accentuated her abstact impression.  Her lips smiled politely, but her eyes were cold, and serious, giving off the air of gravity and self importance she seemed to want to imbue out into her audience.

"I've been director of this program since it's inception, and several others before that. I've worked with every living first generation teacher alive, and a couple who have passed away. You can look through the studio photo album in the reception area to see all the greats I've had the privledge to work with.  I've been dancing since I was two years old and have never stopped.  Only when I was injured, was I forced to give up performance as my career.  It was Pilates that brought me back to health and freedom of movement.  Ever since I've been sharing my wisdom, and making the world a better place for dance.  After all, Pilates really is for dancers, they are the only ones who can really appreciate it, and express it as it was meant to be performed."

A few eyebrows lifted at this statement.  It was obvious from the shape and condition of some of the bodies in the room that not all shared Amanda's background. One lady, in the blue shirt, sat a bit straighter, another shifted uncomfortably while scratching her forearm.

"Our program is part of the highest quality equipment manufacteurer in business.  We are the best, both in training and in equipemnt.  As trainees, you will be elibigle for discounts when you are ready to purchase your own, if you haven't already."

"For now, you have your manuals, your tracking sheets for your hours, and you know how the schedule works.  Where every you come from, whatever your background, whatever you think you already know about Pilates, you have finally arrived at the true authentic method.  When you graduate, if you graduate from this program, because some of you surely won't, you will have a certification that is unmatched by any of the inferior options that are out there. You will be part of our elite family, deserving of the status you will have earned. Work hard, stay focused, and you will get what you deserve."

A Pilates Story 2

The stand off continued like that, each taking up their own space, until the young girl moved to a nearby mat, assumed a Pilates "V" stance, and re-collected herself.  Smoothly she curled her head down, creased at the sternum with arms hanging freely from her sides, until her spine flexed over and her fingers touched the floor. As she leaned forward, head tucked under, her shoulders made contact with the floor and gracefully her back rolled onto the floor until her back was flat, head up, hands were behind her head, elbows wide, with heels together and knees also wide, feet flexed as though she was still standing on the floor in her Pilates "V" position.

Her inhale came smoothly and with it the extension of her legs until her inner thighs looked as though they had been zipped together.  As her exhale began her legs unzipped back to their original position. Inhale out, exhale in, breathing leading the movement of the feet.  Her breath was almost inaudible, smooth and unencumbered by lips, mouth or throat. And so she began the beginning of her mat work, where her focus grew and her control deepened.

The old man hadn't really watched, his gaze unchanged out the window, but he felt her movement, sensed her ease of breath, and found his calm was increasing as she progressed.  Her transition from the 100 beats to the Roll up was seamless, not letting go of all the built up engagement, but taking the engagement developed in her 100's directly into her Roll up. Arms started back over her head, while the rib cage stayed connected to her hips, her inhale let the way of the arms, then the rotation of the head before it even left the mat, exhaling patiently until the crease in the sternum came naturally and effortlessly.  From the beginning she had ankles in rotation, toes pulled back, pressing out through her heels, with knees soft and inner thighs squeezing together. The lift of her back off the floor seemed more like a floating off, and the exhaling reach of arms made parallel lines with her legs.

Maybe it was the parallel lines that caught the old man's enough attention from the corner of his eye, maybe it was the breathing, it could have been the black hole of focus the young girl seemed to be falling through, but whatever it was, the old man's attention was taken out of his reverie, away from the view out the window, to gaze at the movement that was unfolding before him.

Again, the transition was seamless between exercises, on a roll back her arms came to her sides, without losing the endpoints of tension in her ankles or her metatarsals, her heels drew towards her bottom as her knees bent to take her legs in, up, and out to a level that appeared under control, but definitely heavy enough to challenge her core.

As the old man watched, he wondered where the young girl had come from, how she had learned, and who from, and naturally if it had been someone he had trained in his earlier years.  She moved well, in the classical style, making him envy her youth and the passion in her expression. 

When he turned and walked away she seemed not to notice, continuing on with expression, her breath a billows of pressure driving the movement on, just as the blacksmith's arm works the billows that brings metal to the right temperature for molding. The timing of her leg circles was flawless, each inhale engaging core first, then reaching the leg across the middle of her body to create eccentric tension, before the exhale led the way of the leg swinging around to complete the circle, with the depth of the exhale matching the load of the leg as it traveled on it's ideal path.

But this went unnoticed by the old man, who was now on his way towards the front door. Martha had been seated at the front desk, pretending to busy herself with the schedule, but eavesdropping on the interaction between the two.  She didn't even look up as the old man walked toward her, and all he said as he walked out the door was, "If she performs the entire mat, give her an appointment for next week."

A Pilates Story

The old man stood in the back of the studio looking out the window.  There seemed to be something missing in the moment, but it was not apparent until what was missing became present, breathing.  It was subconscious on his part, from a life time of paying attention to how he breathed.  He called it intentionally triggering instinctual response, but that just meant you exhaled so completely that the autonomous nervous system kicked in and caused the need to breathe in begin.  Slowing at first, air came in through the nose, and then down the throat like chocolate being poured over two scoops of ice cream that lifted up and stretched out the give more surface area for the chocolate to flow around.  Such was the expansion of the old man’s chest.

“She’s here,” the woman said, empty of emotion, as though she were trying only to state the fact without adding any emotional tinge.  She walked away as gracefully as she appeared, and the whole while the old man never changed his expression, or altered the rhythm of his breath, until finally, with more intention behind the inhale his head turned and he looked down, a change of focus, a different subject now held in his mind’s eye.

He left the new girl standing, once she stood before him, not out of discourtesy, but because he felt that standing was the best posture in which to carry on a business conversation.

She stood before him in silence, waiting for the old man to speak. She was standing in the Pilates V, heels together, toes apart, about 6 inches.  Not the turn out that most dancers assume, but the turn out that allows the femurs to sit in the acetabulums in neutral.  Her arms were as ease by her sides, sculpted and defined, but with soft contours, not the kind that you would get in body building, but the kind of arms you get from doing Pilates. Her hair was pulled back to a simple pony tale that reached just past her shoulder blades and was a color of autumn leaves.  The set of her shoulders and the position of her head spoke volumes about her experience with Pilates. The leotard gently expanded and contracted from her breath, but if you looked closely you could she there was an effort to keep the breath smooth in spite of a racing heart.

The old man’s gaze met hers and a long moment passed before he inhaled.

“No” he said, and went back to looking out the window.

She never moved, never flinched, only continued standing there, breathing to calm her heart beat.

“You are too old, I am too old, and I have nothing left in me to give.” He said this more to himself than to her, and he said it with a finality that carried with it a heavy resignation.

He looked at her again, dismissing her with his eyes, but she stood firm.  A slight glaze overcame her eyes, then was replaced by the resolve that had brought her this far.  It wasn’t easy getting this interview.  She had been told no all along the way.  Phone calls ignored, appearances dismissed, letters returned unopened.  Only after she had stood outside the studio for three weeks, not saying anything, not moving, only standing there like a soldier returning to the fort, waiting for the  gates to open, had the old man told Martha that he would speak with her.

So she continued to stand, saying nothing, making her presence be the insistence she felt throughout the depth of her being.