An Urban Adventure!

So now you know I am a great fan of Pilates, obviously not a very results driven one, though the eternal optimist in me lives in hope. I do however qualify for the "Dedication Award" at our annual awards ceremony. Not to be scoffed at, this is a very serious occasion as the prestigious awards are not easily gained, though I do suspect that at times a bit of bribery has been involved. The knives start coming out early in spring, shortly after they have finally been returned to their sheaths after the girls (and guys) have recovered from the Deep Disappointments of last year's ceremony.  Now, I'm really not the type of gal to rat on my Pilates pals, but if you think the weeping and wailing at the Oscars is dramatic, you ain't seen nothing yet when the New Queen of Pilates receives her  maroon satin sash. And as for lucky Mr Pilates, he has the gals flinging themselves at him for the duration of his reign. There is a lot of joshing and preparing for the big night, and some rather sinister comments have also been thrown. It may cheer you to know that in her heyday, Suzy Q was thrice crowned Queen of Pilates (yes, lucky packet crowns with flashing lights nogal during my unrivalled reign). Sadly, for some of her former friends and rivals, this proved far too threatening and she feared reprisals and stilettos in the back whilst doing her weekly shop. So, it's just the slow and steady award these days for Suzy Q, as she sips her bubbly through a mist of nostalgic tears in a converted garage/studio in the burbs, watching the dewy eyed newcomers break down and cry on the big night (and that's nothing compared to the wannabes!)


All this to say say that come hell or high water, I seldom miss a class. So when my car was in the knock shop to iron out  a few teen inflicted dents and scrapes, I opted to walk to class. It takes me seven to eight minutes to skid in by car, so I reckoned that a half hour walk should comfortably get me there. "No no," implored Miss Suzy Q No 1, who is spending a few days at home before starting at UCT, "it's too far,  it's only one class, I'm sure your award is safe, extenuating circumstances and all that (she's clearly getting into the zone for Law school), not to mention you'll be mugged outside Pollsmoor Prison. It's really not safe out there, Mom!" My Pilates instructress, an ex prima donna from the local ballets corps, who never misses an opportunity to strut her stuff under the spotlight, and is still doing the most amazing high kicks and leaps despite rapidly approaching 50 (heavens I hope she never reads this, as she'll kill me off either in person or on the mat for letting that cat out the bag) would NEVER accept a lame excuse like being carless for missing class. 

So I strode off, armed with a water bottle, stout walking stick, pepper spray, and for a really serious attack my trusty porcupine quill. (Stab 'em straight through the heart, jiggle around to slice the aorta till it looks like a spaghetti junction, remove weapon, no entry wound to be found and voila, attacker sorted.) Don't say I haven't learnt a useful trick or two in my time. Stick with me kids, no end to what you might learn from this blog. Despite being a keen and fairly fit walker, it took me a good 35 minutes to reach my destination, and I was just a little puffed out. Yes, I made it safely past Pollsmoor, where the gangsters were exiting en route for the courts and were mercifully safely behind the bars of the police truck, not to say I didn't get a wolf whistle or two. See, Suzy Q's not quite past her prime just yet! 

Whilst I was hailed as both a madwoman and a suburban heroine on arrival, it gave me cause for thought. I do that route as such a routine drive because it is so easy for me to hop into my little car, yet I passed many, many men and women also on foot, heading from their taxi drop off points towards the houses in the area where they clean, look after children and tend gardens, all smiling and chatting away as this is the normal daily routine for them. I doubt very much that they are hailed as heroic or crazy. They also seemed much more friendly than the local women whom I pass on a daily basis when out walking Rex round our very pleasant neighbourhood, who barely manage a grimace, let alone a greeting, though they have so much more for which to be thankful.


Time to give thanks for all the good things and friends and family we have and smile more girls, we definitely don't want to end up looking like those horrible harridans! And if that's what skinny does for the soul, well, I think I'll just relax and be happy...


Your,


Suzy Q