Fuck this

Dear Instructor,

First and foremost, I would like to say thank you. Over the course of the two years I’ve been taking your pilates class, I’ve made great progress. My core is stronger, my triceps are getting huge, my pelvic floor is fucking jacked. If nothing else, your class has made me realize that torture can be good — necessary even. In fact, I’m considering writing a letter to the government to tell them they should reopen Guantanamo, but that instead of injuring prisoners, they should force them to do powerball pilates.

But I digress. The reason I’m writing this letter is not just to thank you, but to inform you that I will no longer be doing planks in or outside of your class. While, as I’ve stated already, I appreciate that you’ve encouraged me to push my body to the limit, when it comes to planks, I’ve reached my limit. Planks are just too painful, too boring, too excruciating for me to endure any longer. Especially planks on exercise balls: fuck those the most.

I will continue to go to your class, will continue to do crunches and sit-ups, to do all manner of lunges and squats, of teasers and hundreds, will continue to hop around like a moron with tiny weights in my hands — but I will not do planks. From now on, when you tell us to plank you’ll find me chilling in child’s pose, or laid out flat on my back, eyes closed, a serene smile on my face. While everyone else pushes themselves (let’s be real — herself) off the floor on either hands or elbows, engaging every fucking muscle in their (her) goddamn body, I’ll be relaxing. When you tell everyone else to plank with either feet or hands (or, god help them, elbows) on a giant exercise ball, I’ll be burying my little head between my elbows, ass up, peacefully thinking about what I’m going to eat after class.

Since I don’t technically have an injury (yet), I realize my new policy is against everything you believe in and I hope there will be no hard feelings. I’d like to reiterate that I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me, my traps, my lats, my hammies, my quads, my glutes (especially my glutes) and all the many back muscles which I cannot name. I’d love nothing more than to continue our work on my hot little body — as long as it doesn’t involve fucking planks.

Sincerely,

Mary (the woman who wears gigantic stained t-shirts with holes in them and always cries when she planks)