There is a cheerful group of people - of which I count myself as a prospective member - who stand out from the crowd with their bouncy stride and "saved" appearance. The others, on the other hand, move slowly and ponderously past us. We know we are "saved" because we faithfully and enthusiastically attend the strenuous but invigorating lessons at the Joseph H. Pilates Universal Gymnasium on Eighth Avenue in midtown Manhattan.
This is where Joe Pilates, a white-haired, rosy-cheeked octogenarian, his wife Clara and instructor Hannah (who came for a lesson 25 years ago and has stayed) bellow their stern commands. Meanwhile, we groan our way through the exercises that are at the heart of what Joe, in his typical German style, calls 'Contrology' - a controlled form of exercise.
There is a cheerful group of people - of which I count myself as a prospective member - who stand out from the crowd with their bouncy stride and "saved" appearance. The others, on the other hand, move slowly and ponderously past us. We know we are "saved" because we faithfully and enthusiastically attend the strenuous but invigorating lessons at the Joseph H. Pilates Universal Gymnasium on Eighth Avenue in midtown Manhattan.
This is where Joe Pilates, a white-haired, rosy-cheeked octogenarian, his wife Clara and instructor Hannah (who came for a lesson 25 years ago and has stayed) bellow their stern commands. Meanwhile, we groan our way through the exercises that are at the heart of what Joe, in his typical German style, calls 'Contrology' - a controlled form of exercise.
Don't ask me what Contrology is. Don't ask Joe either, because a suitable explanation is not one of his talents. It has something to do with rational tension and relaxation of the muscles and is based on a deep knowledge of body movements. This began three quarters of a century ago, when Joe was a child in Germany, watching his playmates and animals leaping through the forest. Later, when he was earning his living as a boxer and circus gymnast, he began to develop a series of exercises to relax him after an exhausting day.
The comprehensive principles of Contrology were revealed to him during the First World War. When the war began in 1914, his circus was detained in England. Joe, along with everyone else, was imprisoned in an abandoned hospital on the Isle of Man.
As weeks turned into months and years, he watched his fellow prisoners sink into apathy and despair. They had nothing to do but stare at the barren, crumbling walls of their prison. Everyday life was boring, interrupted only by the poor meals - because the German submarine blockade was slowly starving England. Sometimes there were walks across the bare yard, where there was nothing to see except a thin cat chasing a mouse or a bird.
It was the cats that made the difference. Even though they were nothing but skin and bones. Even the most animal-loving prisoners could hardly give them any of their own meagre rations because their own children begged for food. Still, they were lithe, springy and efficient when they aimed at their prey. Why were the cats in such good shape and bright-eyed, while the humans grew paler, weaker and more apathetic every day? They were ready to give up if they caught a cold or sprained their ankle when they fell down.
As Joe began to carefully observe the cats and analyze their movements for hours, he realized the answer. When they had nothing else to do, they stretched and extended their legs, keeping their muscles supple and alive. Joe then developed an organized series of exercises to stretch all human muscles. He showed the exercises to the dejected people around him. With nothing else to do, they began to join in. At first they were awkward and timid. But under Joe's firm supervision, they became more and more confident and supple - just like the cats. By the end of the war, they were in better shape than at the beginning. When the great flu epidemic swept through all the warring countries, none of them fell ill.
Don't ask me what Contrology is. Don't ask Joe either, because a suitable explanation is not one of his talents. It has something to do with rational tension and relaxation of the muscles and is based on a deep knowledge of body movements. This began three quarters of a century ago, when Joe was a child in Germany, watching his playmates and animals leaping through the forest. Later, when he was earning his living as a boxer and circus gymnast, he began to develop a series of exercises to relax him after an exhausting day.
The comprehensive principles of Contrology were revealed to him during the First World War. When the war began in 1914, his circus was detained in England. Joe, along with everyone else, was imprisoned in an abandoned hospital on the Isle of Man.
As weeks turned into months and years, he watched his fellow prisoners sink into apathy and despair. They had nothing to do but stare at the barren, crumbling walls of their prison. Everyday life was boring, interrupted only by the poor meals - because the German submarine blockade was slowly starving England. Sometimes there were walks across the bare yard, where there was nothing to see except a thin cat chasing a mouse or a bird.
It was the cats that made the difference. Even though they were nothing but skin and bones. Even the most animal-loving prisoners could hardly give them any of their own meagre rations because their own children begged for food. Still, they were lithe, springy and efficient when they aimed at their prey. Why were the cats in such good shape and bright-eyed, while the humans grew paler, weaker and more apathetic every day? They were ready to give up if they caught a cold or sprained their ankle when they fell down.
As Joe began to carefully observe the cats and analyze their movements for hours, he realized the answer. When they had nothing else to do, they stretched and extended their legs, keeping their muscles supple and alive. Joe then developed an organized series of exercises to stretch all human muscles. He showed the exercises to the dejected people around him. With nothing else to do, they began to join in. At first they were awkward and timid. But under Joe's firm supervision, they became more and more confident and supple - just like the cats. By the end of the war, they were in better shape than at the beginning. When the great flu epidemic swept through all the warring countries, none of them fell ill.
When he was free, he came to America. That's where you should be when you have a new idea. He designed and built equipment for precisely coordinated stretching exercises. Then he rented a loft and opened his Universal Gymnasium. It was located up the street from Stillman's Gym, a well-known facility specializing in classical fitness training. Little by little, word got around. More and more people came - especially those who needed to control their whole body: ballet dancers, opera singers, Laurence Olivier and Yehudi Menuhin.
When I joined the group, he greeted me like everyone else. He lay down on his eighty-year-old back and ordered: "Step on me." I hesitated. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Step!" I carefully placed one foot on his stomach, the other on his chest. "You see," he said. "It's quite simple." Later, I stood in front of him in the prescribed black swimming trunks and he tapped my bare skin with one finger.
"Typical," he said in a pithy tone. "Just like all Americans! They want to drive 600 miles an hour and don't even know how to walk properly! Look at the people on the road: hunched over, coughing, young men with gray faces! Why can't they watch the animals? Look at a cat. Look at any animal. The only animal that doesn't draw in its belly is the pig. And now look at all the people on the sidewalk - like pigs."
"By exercising your abs, you strengthen your body, you don't get colds, you don't get cancer and you don't get hernias. Do animals get hernias? Do animals go on diets? Eat what you want, drink what you want. I drink a liter of schnapps a day, plus a few beers, and smoke maybe fifteen cigars."
"And what do the Americans do? They play golf, they play baseball. They only use half or a quarter of their muscles. They get fat, jog, go on crazy diets, do even crazier exercises, complain about pain - and end up with hernias."
"So, you want to learn to do better? It's all up here, in your head. Lie down on the mat. Don't just plop down, go down gently, cross your arms, cross your legs. Now, legs in the air! Grab your ankles! Of course you can't reach them, no American can do that. Good, then grab your calves. Do it to your knees. Straighten your knees! Bend forward! Reach now! No, you have to think first! Think! Up!" It can take months to learn exactly which tense muscle and tendon group is meant by this "Up!".
Meanwhile, the newbie is constantly under the scornful stares or encouraging grunts of others, learning the Pilates basics, the various pulling, twisting, bending and squatting moves that Joe says use 25 percent more muscle than circus acrobatics and fifty or seventy-five percent more than baseball (yikes!) or golf (double yikes!). No jumping or running, which puts unnecessary strain on the heart. In fact, almost everything is done flat on the back or stomach. No weights ("Do animals lift weights?"). No pumped up biceps - Joe is more interested in muscles that hold you up than those that you can use to knock someone else down. The exercises are graded and have quirky names: the teaser, the forward bob, the saw, the hang.
From the walls of the gym hang paintings, photographs and sculptures of Joe, naked or wearing only a loincloth: spearfishing at 56, depicting the spirit of the air on the floor of the Nebraska State Band at 60, skiing at 78. There are also photos with admiring dedications ("To the Greatest", the one and immortal Joe) from distinguished alumni, as well as photocopies of articles from American newspapers. They document the horrors of American attitudes. Through sweat-dampened eyes, while hanging upside down on one device, you might see a famous publisher, producer or news anchor slouching on another. They all get to feel the full brunt of the Pilates philosophy.
"It's the stiffness. You need to open your chest more, two inches more. Up! NO! With that muscle" - he poked a bulge at his midsection that will never show up on you or me - "straighten your knees! Where are you going - like an elephant?"
"Oh Joe," complains a famous ballerina. "Now you're calling me an elephant too."
"I wouldn't insult the elephant. An elephant could step into this room and you wouldn't hear it. An elephant walks delicately. But you - thud, thud, THUD! American! Baseball player! Jogger! Weightlifters! No wonder they come to me with arthritis! Stomach ulcers! Animals don't have ulcers! Animals don't diet! Stretch your knees! Air out!"
Time flies - you twist, stretch, fight your way through exercises with names like "corkscrew", "pocket knife" or "seal". It's not cheap (5 dollars per 45-minute session), but if you come two or three times a week, a few weeks can quickly turn into months. The effort remains, but over time, the occasional appreciative nod or word of praise is mixed in with all the exhaustion. Clara, your friendly companion, admires your new slim line. And Hannah, rather taciturn and direct, just says: "It's about time."
You might even walk down the street with your head held high now - above all the tired, gray faces. Aches and pains disappear. A day comes when you can swing your ankles neatly in two loops hanging from a bar up there. You stretch your body and get a firm grip on two vertical poles - climb up. You reach the top with a joyful grunt and suddenly shout in horror: "How do I get back down?" "The same way you came up." Hand over hand you come down, with gasps and groans and a final cry of joy. In the silence afterwards, Joe shouts out his final accolade:
"Now you are an animal"
When he was free, he came to America. That's where you should be when you have a new idea. He designed and built equipment for precisely coordinated stretching exercises. Then he rented a loft and opened his Universal Gymnasium. It was located up the street from Stillman's Gym, a well-known facility specializing in classical fitness training. Little by little, word got around. More and more people came - especially those who needed to control their whole body: ballet dancers, opera singers, Laurence Olivier and Yehudi Menuhin.
When I joined the group, he greeted me like everyone else. He lay down on his eighty-year-old back and ordered: "Step on me." I hesitated. "Don't be afraid," he said. "Step!" I carefully placed one foot on his stomach, the other on his chest. "You see," he said. "It's quite simple." Later, I stood in front of him in the prescribed black swimming trunks and he tapped my bare skin with one finger.
"Typical," he said in a pithy tone. "Just like all Americans! They want to drive 600 miles an hour and don't even know how to walk properly! Look at the people on the road: hunched over, coughing, young men with gray faces! Why can't they watch the animals? Look at a cat. Look at any animal. The only animal that doesn't draw in its belly is the pig. And now look at all the people on the sidewalk - like pigs."
"By exercising your abs, you strengthen your body, you don't get colds, you don't get cancer and you don't get hernias. Do animals get hernias? Do animals go on diets? Eat what you want, drink what you want. I drink a liter of schnapps a day, plus a few beers, and smoke maybe fifteen cigars."
"And what do the Americans do? They play golf, they play baseball. They only use half or a quarter of their muscles. They get fat, jog, go on crazy diets, do even crazier exercises, complain about pain - and end up with hernias."
"So, you want to learn to do better? It's all up here, in your head. Lie down on the mat. Don't just plop down, go down gently, cross your arms, cross your legs. Now, legs in the air! Grab your ankles! Of course you can't reach them, no American can do that. Good, then grab your calves. Do it to your knees. Straighten your knees! Bend forward! Reach now! No, you have to think first! Think! Up!" It can take months to learn exactly which tense muscle and tendon group is meant by this "Up!".
Meanwhile, the newbie is constantly under the scornful stares or encouraging grunts of others, learning the Pilates basics, the various pulling, twisting, bending and squatting moves that Joe says use 25 percent more muscle than circus acrobatics and fifty or seventy-five percent more than baseball (yikes!) or golf (double yikes!). No jumping or running, which puts unnecessary strain on the heart. In fact, almost everything is done flat on the back or stomach. No weights ("Do animals lift weights?"). No pumped up biceps - Joe is more interested in muscles that hold you up than those that you can use to knock someone else down. The exercises are graded and have quirky names: the teaser, the forward bob, the saw, the hang.
From the walls of the gym hang paintings, photographs and sculptures of Joe, naked or wearing only a loincloth: spearfishing at 56, depicting the spirit of the air on the floor of the Nebraska State Band at 60, skiing at 78. There are also photos with admiring dedications ("To the Greatest", the one and immortal Joe) from distinguished alumni, as well as photocopies of articles from American newspapers. They document the horrors of American attitudes. Through sweat-dampened eyes, while hanging upside down on one device, you might see a famous publisher, producer or news anchor slouching on another. They all get to feel the full brunt of the Pilates philosophy.
"It's the stiffness. You need to open your chest more, two inches more. Up! NO! With that muscle" - he poked a bulge at his midsection that will never show up on you or me - "straighten your knees! Where are you going - like an elephant?"
"Oh Joe," complains a famous ballerina. "Now you're calling me an elephant too."
"I wouldn't insult the elephant. An elephant could step into this room and you wouldn't hear it. An elephant walks delicately. But you - thud, thud, THUD! American! Baseball player! Jogger! Weightlifters! No wonder they come to me with arthritis! Stomach ulcers! Animals don't have ulcers! Animals don't diet! Stretch your knees! Air out!"
Time flies - you twist, stretch, fight your way through exercises with names like "corkscrew", "pocket knife" or "seal". It's not cheap (5 dollars per 45-minute session), but if you come two or three times a week, a few weeks can quickly turn into months. The effort remains, but over time, the occasional appreciative nod or word of praise is mixed in with all the exhaustion. Clara, your friendly companion, admires your new slim line. And Hannah, rather taciturn and direct, just says: "It's about time."
You might even walk down the street with your head held high now - above all the tired, gray faces. Aches and pains disappear. A day comes when you can swing your ankles neatly in two loops hanging from a bar up there. You stretch your body and get a firm grip on two vertical poles - climb up. You reach the top with a joyful grunt and suddenly shout in horror: "How do I get back down?" "The same way you came up." Hand over hand you come down, with gasps and groans and a final cry of joy. In the silence afterwards, Joe shouts out his final accolade:
"Now you are an animal"
