Of flab, abs, bugs and dogs

GRAND CENTRAL E-mail Patty Ryan: Click here

By PATTY RYAN, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published September 20, 2002

I'M ON THE COUCH Sunday night, reading The Pilates Body. Pilates (puh-LAH-teez) is a form of stretching.

It's all the rage.

Joseph Pilates, a German who opened a New York exercise studio in 1926, could flatten his belly until it resembled a lunar crater.

On Page 19 of The Pilates Body, I learn about the muscles that encircle the abdomen.

THEIR VERY EXISTENCE surprises me. Does fat have no sacred ground? Equally baffling is Pilates' name for this region: "the Powerhouse."

I picture Dylan McDermott telling me, "Nice Powerhouse."

The thought alone might propel me to the rug, except -- at this very moment -- my life's drama has taken a turn.

A FLYING ROACH has entered the house.

A word about flying roaches.

They arrive dazed and beleaguered, having made their way through baseboards and drain pipes, then wait in the open as if expecting a hero's welcome.

THIS ONE flies straight at me, wings outstretched, like a long-lost relative in an airport. Patty! For a split second, I worry about reincarnation. Dad? Then I throw the Pilates book, being sure to curl my stomach for maximum effect. I miss.

So then I must leap from the couch, shrieking and flailing my arms and head. The heart rate is up. Calories burn.

I check the mirror. No bug in my hair. I search the room. There it is, burrowed in the newspaper. (Two out of three Palma Ceia bugs have college degrees, the Census suggests.)

The bug cowers. It tries to flatten itself like Joseph Pilates.

I admire the form.

OUTSIDE, I free it from a paper cup prison amid the jeers of crickets.

The air sweats humidity. If summer lasted a week and not 11 months, August would have been hump day. We could take comfort in knowing that autumn begins Monday; an icy, bug-killing winter on its tail. Instead, the bugs plot home invasions.

INSIDE, I take my place on the rug and read through the first Pilates stretch -- knees in the air, back to the floor, shoulders lifted, arms pumping at the sides. My eldest golden retriever, the white-faced one, worries about this.

Abby sniffs my hair. Do I have fleas? Am I dying? Finally, she burrows under my neck, offering shoulder support.

NEXT comes "the Roll-Up," the Pilates version of a situp. Abby tolerates my feet under her armpits in exchange for ear scratching on the upswing. She sits out the subsequent "Single Leg Curls," "Rolling Like a Ball" and "Single Leg Stretch."

Joseph Pilates called this stuff "the Art of Controlology."

I am, therefore, in control. Of something. Bugs and dogs, maybe.

I have The Pilates Body. The book, that is.

- Tampa's Kennedy Boulevard was once called Grand Central. Now Grand Central is a weekly City Times column. Writer Patty Ryan can be reached at 226-3382 or pryan@sptimes.com.

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