What I Learned About Balls Today or The Fat Busting Diaries, Again

Okaaaayyyy. Pilates and stability balls. The former, a generic name given to a medivial form of torture practised in the ancient world and most probably meted out by pirates from whom it gets its name; it has resurfaced in the modern world as a type of self-inflicted torture, practised by masochistic women. The latter, the torture device of choice.

Here is what I learnt today...

1. Stability balls. Seriously? You really couldn't find a better name for that one? In a Fickle Fest, it can easily go bouncing off with first prize, it's nearest contender a hormonal, teen-aged boy's heart.
   SOOOOO erroneously named. But then, to paraphrase the immortal words of the Bard, what is in a friggin' name? After all, would not the rack, by any other name, be just as body-alteringly hellish?
2. In Torture World, seconds are actually longer. So when the instructor says "Hold that position for ten more seconds", she means twenty.
3. Women on the floor, flat on their backs, legs in the air, moaning and groaning? Not always sexy. Even when the balls are between their legs. No. Really not sexy.
4. I always knew I had a jelly-belly, jiggle-jaggle-jugs and thunder thighs. I did not know I had knock-about knees. Now I know.
5. I must be the shortest woman alive.
6. Even the hair on my head is groaning in protest today.
7. Endorphins are over-rated. At least during the entire procedure.

I so recommend this to everyone! You might die by the end of it, but at least you'll die fabulously and not flabulously.

And now, there's a grave out there somewhere with my name on it. Heaven is hopefully a land where pain-killers grow on trees. And chocolate is fat-free and still delicious. And the angels all look like Johnny Depp, Hugh Jackman and Hritik Roshan. And...

Ouch! I just pulled a finger muscle typing that last sentence. Right now, I'll just settle for the pain-killer tree.