I still remember the first time we were introduced: I strutted into the room, confident that my sculpted biceps and chest would impress, as they had with females of the past—I was sadly mistaken. Her control over me was displayed when just five minutes into the interaction, I was shaking like a leaf. Never before had I met such a powerful woman. She was sharp, confident, and demanded excellence from me—excellence I was grossly incapable of providing. At some point during this traumatic first encounter—she broke me. She made it clear that my countless hours of prior, physical toil in the gym were all for naught—I was weak.
Her name was Pilates.
Like most men who suffer the discovery of inconvenient truths, I attempted to bury the experience away in the deep, dark, “never happened” file of my mind. Yet something was amiss as I attempted a return to seeing other women. Pilates had exposed my act as fraud; one that had only been impressing and attracting the likes of the bench-press and bicep curl, probably due to their own insecurities. My brief run-in with a real woman had sullied my mediocre relationships of the past, but my lack of discipline and oversized ego prevented me from putting in the effort needed to make her mine. As men do, I continued to opt for convenience and comfort as my biceps, chest, and false sense of security, all ballooned in size.
To be clear, there is nothing wrong with the bench-press and bicep curl. In fact, they may be suitable mates for those who understand and appreciate their value. My personal issue with them is that they are exploitable. Their relaxed demands permit the use of improper form; improper form that allowed me to build muscle while masking my immobilities; muscle I then used to create a facade that I was strong. Given it was strength and not muscle I was after, the lie I was purporting and the culprits that abetted me caused me much resentment.
Fortunately, my delusion lasted only a couple of months before it was ruptured for good. At the time, I had been working as a Personal Trainer for Equinox. I was doing a good job of suppressing the memory of my first encounter with Pilates and had started to forget the distress she had caused me. I woke up early one Friday to “hit a quick arm day” before heading out for a ski weekend with some friends. Upon entering the gym, I was implored by my boss to take a Pilates class that was starting in the next five minutes. Just the sound of her name caused me to unravel. My heart thumped, as visions of the first time we met replayed in my head. I recalled how she had physically exposed me; putting my bare ass on display for the world to see. The thought alone this time was enough to have me once again, shaking like a leaf.
Against my better judgement, I took the class. It’s of mild relevance that is was actually a BARRE class—a combo of Pilates and ballet for all my unfamiliar Macho brethren—and once again, I was exposed. However strange, this time around, I did not look for a place to hide. Perhaps it was the horrifying embarrassment I felt realizing that I was truly weaker than every middle-aged woman in class, or that I was finally ready to stop running from the truth. Whatever the reason, while steeping in my ineptitude, I made a decision: I vowed, from that day forth, that I would do anything and everything to make Pilates mine.
Fast-forward three years and I’ve never been happier. It turned out that what she wanted from me all along was honesty. She did not care that I was flawed, weak and uncoordinated; in fact, those were some of the qualities that drew her to me in the first place—or at least that’s what she tells me. What attracted me to her was her realness. She wasn’t beguiled by superficial muscle mass like the usual women I dated. She made me drop the tough guy act and forced me to make myself vulnerable—maybe for the first time in my life. When I did, I was finally able to come to terms with something I had known, but was running from for as long as I could remember—I was weak. As I had done so instinctively in the past, it would have been easy to continue masking my insecurities in the comfort of lesser women. Yet, one can only hide from the truth long enough to watch those lies manifest themselves in more noxious ways.
To get a better picture of my struggle, understand that man views time as his most precious resource. When we sense a threat to something we previously accepted as fact, we avoid exploring it further because by ignoring the full picture, we cannot discover anything indisputable that proves us wrong—ignorance is truly bliss. We do this because the stakes are high: being wrong means accepting that we have “wasted” some of our most precious resource on something we now deem unworthy. Sadly, however, this thought process is flawed. It disregards the process of human growth by attempting to reduce life into a series of sprints, rather than the complex marathon it is. The individual who views the world in this light would rather be right than get it right—and is willing to risk perpetual misery to prove it. Important life decisions should never be based on what’s most convenient, yet when it comes to something as crucial as picking a life partner, this is the case far too often. The stubborn man would rather protect his bravado by ignoring the red flags than admit his mistakes, swallow his pride, pick up the pieces and do better the next time.
Given I just extended a metaphor about dating exercises, I am aware that I am not in a position to be handing out relationship advice. Fortunately, this piece is neither concerned with a man’s life partner, nor his workout preferences but instead, hopes only to challenge the stubborn man’s perception of time, the way Pilates has challenged mine.
It was Shakespeare who said: For there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. A polished ability to self-reflect prevents us from designating any time as “bad” because time spent learning—especially about what we truly desire from life—is time well spent. While the stubborn man is sitting at his desk, beating himself up about the joke he cracked the night before that cost him a second date, the learned man is saying, “Looks like I better find someone who gets my sense of humor.” The latter is an individual who views life as a journey of endless growth; growth that can only be halted by pursuing something because it is most expedient. There is nothing more important than cultivating an ability to listen to yourself and intuit what your mind is telling you. Equipped with this tool, time will only be wasted if you let it be.
Back to my budding relationship. I think most would agree that it’s pretty normal. Some days she demands a little more than I can give, and on occasion, I ignore her altogether. Yet despite our differences, I am truly blessed to have found her. She fixed a broken man; one who lied to himself in an effort to fool others. Her guidance helped me see that the time I spent previously pursuing other women was not wasted, rather, it is the very thing that allows what we have to be so special. Her demands have forced me to adopt an open mind; one that has enriched every other relationship and pursuit I have in my life. She helped me realign and understand who I want to be so that I can bring my best—every single day.
So, I am no longer the guy who brags about his 250 pound bench press because I now pursue a form of strength that is infinite and unquantifiable. I don’t suffer from chronic pain because she has guided my body into proper alignment. I stopped covering my insecurities with superficial objects and relationships and started loving myself—goofiness and lack of coordination included. I learned that real men do Pilates(and yoga) because Pilates requires them to make themselves vulnerable: vulnerability brings uncertainty and uncertainty leads to growth.
