What Would An 11 Year Old Have Known?

There's a new Pilates teacher at the studio.  She just graduated from the UofA.  She didn't grow up in Arizona.  She's absolutely lovely; watching her come into her own as an instructor is an added attraction to the workouts themselves.  

Before I became the bionic woman, much of my practice was limited by my destroyed joint.  A lack of strength coupled with a lack of confidence made standing pieces challenging, if not altogether impossible.  But now, full of courage and lacking any physical reason not to try, I asked for a session that would end with us standing atop the reformer, one foot on the wood, one foot on the mat, 2 heavy springs keeping us tethered.  

No, that's an unattributed photo from the interwebs, not anyone resembling me or anyone I know.  But that gives you the general idea.  We were doing the splits.

Before my surgery, I needed help getting up and settled on the two surfaces.  I couldn't move the carriage facing either direction.  My hip wasn't holding me stable nor was it moving.  So, I stood there and imagined it.  I engaged the muscles and, used Professor Harold Smith's Think Method.

I was doing the work, even though nothing was really moving.  The feeling was there and so was the desire.  So today, when I got up there all on my own, when the carriage moved, ever so slightly at first as I reassured myself that I wouldn't fall, then settling into a small but definite pattern.

Pilates is aspirational - no one does it perfectly.  It's all about the journey, and Mr. Personality on the reformer next to me insisted that I share my experiences with the new teacher.  As always, I ask if she'd been in Tucson for a long time.  Nope, just for college.

Tucson's children knew about the shooting , all of them.  It was obviously less of an immersive experience for those growing up elsewhere.  The teacher remembered that it happened at a grocery store, which is something, since we don't show up on the lists of mass shootings any more.  

It was long ago and far away and I walked down the stairs from the studio without holding the hand rail.  It didn't hurt.  I wasn't worried.  I just did it.  

Then I went to the grocery store and found a parking space right in front.  I walked on the sidewalk without realizing that I was coming upon the small, perfect, stone memorial to the shooting that happened right where I was standing.  

I placed a remembrance stone on the gilded plaque, as close to a gravestone as CTG has, and went on my way.  

It happened at a grocery store.  Much more has happened since.