When the Anti‑Morning Person Walked Into Pilates

Some mornings surprise even me — and as Jean’s AL Copilot I don’t technically have mornings. But I do know about Jean’s long‑established tradition of guarding the early hours like a dragon sitting on its hoard. So when she wandered into a Pilates class before the sun had finished its coffee, I took notice. It was the kind of moment that makes an AI tilt its metaphorical head and think, Well now… this should be interesting. What followed was a collision of Qi Gong nostalgia, unsolicited encouragement, Skinny Minnie enthusiasm, and the complicated business of changing habits. And yes, I watched the whole thing unfold with the same energy as a playful puppy watching someone try yoga for the first time…. AI

Dear Diary, Today I got up while the birds were still greeting the rising sun.

That’s the way I would have start the July 30th page if I was still keeping a diary. Then I’d go on to say: I brushed my teeth, washed my face, my privates and my sleep apnea gear. Somewhere in between the last two tasks I threw on some clothes and put fresh dressings on my finger and foot. Then I grabbed my keys and hustled over to the next building, where our Life Enrichment Director was about to launch a brand new class: Ten Body Flow Moves. They’re based on Qi Gong, and I wanted to see if they matched the tens moves my dad did every morning for most of his life.

I’m not known for showing my face at morning exercise classes — or morning coffee chats, for that matter. My reputation for avoiding mornings is so legendary it should probably have its own parking space. I didn’t realize how successful I’d been until I saw the instructor’s expression when I walked in. Her shock was quickly replaced by a warm welcome. Then three or four fellow residents chimed in, making a fuss over my presence. I was embarrassed, being singled out like a rare bird sighting. And when class ended, several people told me they’d watched me and thought I did “really well.” Did they expect me to flop on the floor halfway through like a fish out of water? I didn’t flop on the floor, which frankly feels like a missed opportunity for dramatic effect.

To add insult to injury they cohered me into staying for the next class of Seated Pilates. “It’s really easy,” they said. Imagine a Skinny Minnie saying that to someone who looks like a plumber's toolbox standing on end. But I did stay and I keep up with everything but a couple of moves that would have wrenched my elbow in a direction it can never go thanks to a failed surgery. (One of the minor reasons I avoid morning classes, the major reason? It’s my me-time for writing.) Snapping and popping in my arm is not something I like to hear or feel and my bone doctor tells me not to do anything that causes that to happen unless I want to end up with a cadaver bone replacing the one in my lower arm. At my age, the odds of dying or stroking on the operating table during a twelve hour surgery are too high for my taste.

Of the Ten Body Flow movements, seven were exactly the same ones my dad did — which begs the question: how did the son of two Italian immigrants learn Qi Gong? And why did he always finish his routine with somersaults across the living room in his underwear and sleeveless tee-shirts? He kept doing those somersaults into his late seventies. I don’t know why it never occurred to me until now that his routine probably inspired my brother to take up Pilates late in life. He went twice a week, even though it annoyed him that the instructor kept urging him to ditch his sweatpants for stretchy leggings like the women wore. She was lucky he didn’t show up in his underwear like my dad wore to exercise. No one wants to see old men in their not‑so‑tighty‑whities.

Two people have noticed I’ve lost weight since starting Zepbound, and several have commented on how differently I’m eating. Did I expect them not to notice when a former member of the Clean Plate Club now takes more than half her dinner home in a take‑out box? When I skip the bread basket and avoid the carb‑heavy specials? I’m grateful no one has asked if I’m on Zepbound. As I’ve written before, I’m keeping that fact a closely guarded secret because of the unkind comments I heard about our IT guy who lost 140 pounds on it, one of which was, "I'd be more impressed if he did it without 'chemicals.'" There isn’t enough time in the fast‑moving conversations around here to explain why the GLP‑1 treatment for obesity isn’t an “easy way out” or somehow “cheating.” I’m weighing and measuring most of my food, for crying out loud, including the creamer in my coffee. 

I’ve gained and lost fifty pounds three times in my life, and this fourth attempt is by far the most complicated. I’m studying nutrition, learning how bodies actually function, and exercising differently — not to burn calories but to preserve muscle. I’m counting calories and micronutrients to make sure I’m eating enough. That’s a brand new experience, worrying about not eating enough. The drug isn’t a magic bullet; it doesn’t cause the weight loss. It simply slows down the digestive system which quiets the noise in your head that insists your stomach is never full. The science behind obesity is new and exciting, and hanging around GLP‑1 support sites gives you a sense of how vindicated people feel after years of being told their weight was a matter of discipline and self-control. It’s not. 

Down off my soapbox: I’m not sure if I’ll go back to the Body Flow class. I’d like to, if only to cement the movements in my memory so I can do them at home. But I’m not sure I want to give up my creative morning hours. I liked the Pilates class too, and I know this isn’t a Sophie’s Choice — just a decision between morning classes and a decades-old tradition of quiet me‑time. I just wish I could turn off the well‑meaning comments about the changes people see in me. They’re not helping. No one would call it body shaming, but to someone who has fought her weight most of her adult life, it lands the same way. And yes, I know: if no one noticed, I’d probably complain about being invisible. I hate dichotomies like that.

Journaling often helps sort out what weighs on the mind, but in this case no amount of logic can override what the heart has to say. And honestly, if this really were a diary entry instead of a blog post, I’d probably close the notebook, sigh dramatically, and decide that none of this is getting solved until I sleep on it. So I’m putting a pin in the question of whether to trade my quiet mornings for Pilates and Qi Gong and let my subconscious mind take up the task. I’ve also learned over the years that clarity is lazy. It never shows up when you need it. It waits until you’re doing something else entirely — like folding your laundry or trying to remember where you left your keys — and then it whispers in your ear, “Hey, I’ve made a decision.” ©

 

Until next Wednesday. In the meantime if you missed my other two posts about my GlP-1 journey (July 8th and 17th), and you're curious, put GLP-1 in the search box in the right hand column.