The diary of almost everything

Somewhere between deciding that Pilates was going to be my new personality and realising that my core muscles were finally starting to show signs of life again, I found myself in a situation I had not entirely planned for, which is how most of my best decisions seem to happen.

I had been doing Pilates since December, both mat and reformer, and although I still confidently consider myself a beginner, I have reached that encouraging phase where you start to recognise what your body is doing instead of just hoping for the best.

I understand movements faster, I feel when something is off, and every now and then I surprise myself by doing something correctly without immediately questioning whether it was a coincidence.
The studio itself is still fairly new, run by a group of enthusiastic, energetic women who somehow manage to make even the most uncomfortable exercises look elegant, which is impressive considering the reformer machine still looks slightly intimidating the first time you see it.

They are also, as expected in this era, very active on social media, which means there are videos, reels, transitions, angles, and an entire visual universe that requires more coordination than most Pilates exercises.

At some point they asked me if I wanted to join them for a day of filming.
Now, in theory, I am not always someone who likes to say yes to things and step out of my comfort zone.
I am someone who becomes instantly aware of every limb, facial expression, and questionable muscle group the moment a camera is pointed in my direction.

So naturally, I laughed.
I told them, very honestly, that the second a camera appeared, I would forget how to move, blink in unusual ways, and possibly invent entirely new Pilates positions that no one had ever seen before.
Which, in hindsight, was not entirely inaccurate.

But instead of politely declining and returning to my safe little corner of controlled, non-filmed existence, I said yes.
Because somewhere between wanting to be brave and being slightly tired of my own excuses, I decided that this was one of those moments where you either show up or you continue telling yourself stories about why you didn’t.
So I showed up. With options, a bag full of options.

Because if you are going to be filmed, you might as well look like someone who has their life together, or at the very least someone whose outfit suggests a level of coordination that may or may not be present in reality.
Which led to a brief but intense internal crisis about matching sets, colours that almost matched but not quite, and the sudden realisation that I had become exactly the kind of person I sometimes look at online and think, oh, I’m not sure that gym is for me, everyone looks very put together there.
There was also a very quick moment where I thought, wait a second, I was the one saying it doesn’t always have to look that polished, people should also see someone just doing these exercises in a comfortable outfit, something that actually feels approachable.

And yet, there I was. Matching or at least trying to.

Once there, I was immediately reassured that this was all supposed to be fun, relaxed, and natural, which are exactly the words that make you instantly less relaxed and less natural when you are being filmed.

The filming itself ranged from instructional clips about correct positioning to slightly more playful scenes, including one where I was sitting on the reformer with a cup of tea while the instructor, on that same reformer, was working hard enough for both of us, pushing me backwards while I contributed mainly by existing.

There were also moments where we had to perform movements simultaneously, which sounds simple until you realise that one person has years of experience and the other is still negotiating with their core muscles about basic cooperation.

Timing, it turns out, is everything.
As is pretending that holding a position for longer than twenty seconds is not slowly turning into a full-body negotiation.
And then there is the face.
No one prepares you for the face.
Because while you are focusing on your posture, your breathing, your alignment, and the general question of whether your legs are doing what they are supposed to be doing, you are also apparently expected to look relaxed, natural, and mildly joyful.
Which is ambitious.

There were also shots where we had to casually walk into the room, smile at each other, and appear as though we were effortlessly gliding through life, which I now know is a specific skill that deserves its own training programme.

Somewhere halfway through the session I discovered that I am much more comfortable being filmed from the knee down, or perhaps just as a pair of hands demonstrating something useful, which opens up exciting future possibilities in extremely niche modelling careers.

And yet, despite all of this, or perhaps because of it, I had a genuinely great time.
There was laughter, there was chaos, there were multiple takes of the same movement, and there was a very real sense that no one expected perfection, which turned out to be the most helpful part of the entire experience.

Because underneath the slightly awkward moments and the internal commentary about how I looked or moved, there was also something else.
I had said yes, I had shown up and I had done the thing I would normally talk myself out of.

And at the end of it all, I went home, sat on my balcony in the sun with a cup of hot water, and realised that this, more than anything, was the part that mattered.
Not whether the videos would be posted.
Not whether I looked coordinated.
Not whether my core was perfectly engaged in every frame.
But the simple fact that I had stepped outside my own expectations for a day and discovered that it was, in fact, quite enjoyable on the other side.
Even if I still prefer my close-ups to involve only my legs

-Sophie Quinn