Pilates and the Haitian farmer

“Jean, I love how you sweat!”

My Pilates instructor offers this as encouragement, but I try to hide amongst this small group.  It’s hard to be discreet while wearing short shorts, a body hugging tank and standing in a puddle of my own perspiration.

My good friend Kate - one of those gorgeous super fit multi-sport yoga types says, "I wish I could sweat like you."  It takes great muscle control thanks to my two years of weekly Pilates, not to punch her.  After our strenuous Bosu Ball class (balance, strength and cardio class using weights and a slightly squishy half ball), she looks fresh and dry and smells like a newly picked hydrangea.  It’s super annoying, but I digress.

So, every Thursday morning, I drop the kids at school, and actually pay for this hour long Pilates class, where my perspiration begins to bead during the first minute of what Celine falsely deems warm-ups. This is what rich suburban women do in the Northeast.  Exercise is near the top of our “to do” lists, part of our oh-so-hip and healthy culture.  Everyone is doing it  - Pilates, yoga, biking, swimming, marathons, triathlons, and tennis, along with the typical gym membership - - even those who never exercised in their youth.  

After just moving to our quaint hamlet of 20,000, my parents noticed immediately how fit the women were as they stood outside the elementary school waiting for their kids to scramble outside.  Fitness and healthy diets are a direct product of wealth and education. 

What do we do when we are so aware of the financial disparity that exists in the world?  Well, for one thing, we need to act and spend time outside our suburban havens.  We need to share and we need to help. And most of all, we need to do all these things with our children – so they won’t grow up thinking a “hard day” is when the bosu ball is flat or the yoga instructor is sick.

As I strain to do hold the dreaded plank position position (a forearm push-up kept in the up position) for another thirty seconds, I’m keenly aware of my blessing.  It is the blessing of money, choice, freedom and time. While I’m holding this plank, there are women in Haiti working the fields for hours in the blazing sun as a matter of survival - strengthening their biceps and abs as an aside to their daily work. Here I am working my “core” (the muscles in my abdomen and back) with the room temperature set just right and a cool bottle of water at arms length.  What would that Haitian farmer think if she saw us on our cushy mats, muscles shaking from exhaustion?