At the beginning of 2017 I had a massive motorcycle accident. My bike spat me off and smashed everything in the top left hand corner of my body. The bike itself was fine as it landed on my left leg and smashed that too. I remained conscious throughout the incident and I can play it backwards and forwards in my head in 4K HD slow motion perfection. According to many the doctors that examined me in hospital I have a high pain threshold. Many chaps amongst us will be privately thinking "I wish I had a high pain threshold", but you are utterly wrong in doing so. It basically means that someone could cut my leg off with a rusty butter knife and I would be able to hold a lucid conversation while it is happening. It does not mean that I don't feel pain, quite the opposite, I feel every damn bit of it just don't have the common bloody sense to faint.
The pinnacle of this pain tolerance was driven home to my doctors when I was taken from the ambulance to the MRI scanner. I was lucid, chatty and pleasant to everyone helping me. I thought I was behaving with a degree of self control and resolve; they thought that my injuries were not that bad. They were used to people screaming in agony at some minor thing like a snapped finger, so when dealing with me they assumed I was basically OK. I was lifted by four nurses onto the MRI scanner, something that I made a few groans about and allowed myself to utter a few profanities. I was told to mind my language and in a state of embarrassment I apologised profusely. I was then told to follow the instructions. I asked "What instructions?!" as the machine rolled me into its workings on a telescoping table.
I am a lager chap, square of chin and broad of shoulder. Really broad of shoulder. Broader than the telescoped width of an MRI scanner broad. My left arm slid off the table and flopped to the side as I approached the machine's guts. Four ribs, a smashed collarbone and my snapped scapula did a full 90 degree rotation. I sat up and swore for the second time. Before anyone said anything I started apologising for my bad language. The nurses were confused at this point. I explained again to them that everything at the top left hand corner of my body was fucked and I would really rather not be put through the machine again. They insisted and used a velcro strap to hold my arm to my body.
I passed through the scanner a second time. There were some angry whispers behind the console, which I took to be "He really IS fucked! Why didn't he say anything??". Anyway I was then rushed to the high dependency unit. I now am made up of several bits of metal and lots of screws, I come with a workshop manual which specifies lubrication, fluid levels and torque wrench settings.
Some months later, I was completing my physio, having been a model patient and I asked if there was anything I should do to keep myself operating smoothly. She suggested that I consider yoga or pilates as a good way to improve my mobility. Unfortunately for me my wife was present and as soon as she heard this information she booked me into her pilates class.
I felt so awkward at the class, for a start I was the only male there. Me alone, in a room full of spandex draped females? With my reputation? What were they thinking? Our instructor is a lycra clad goddess, she is exquisite to look at and even more spectacular to watch moving - she makes it look easy and simple. Initially I felt incredibly out of place as I was expected to watch her gyrate her limbs and fabulous body (something that up until now I would normally have handed over money to an Eastern European student to perform in a seedy nightclub). The downside was that I am then expected to mimic these movements, something that my large framed male body finds remarkably difficult to do after 47 years of loving neglect.
She made a move that looked amazing, I made it look like an elephant seal trying to ascend a set of stairs. I looked pleadingly at her for recognition that I could not do it, she merely beamed a devastating smile back at me to tell me that I can and must.
The equation of an ellipse is 
this is terribly useful information for what is to come.
I have been going to the classes for some months now and I like to think that I have made some improvement. It does help a lot and I genuinely think that every bloke over the age of 40 should be automatically put onto some form of pilates or yoga. I have extolled the benefits of pilates to anyone who will listen. I'm pretty sure that a larger older bloke like me advertising it is much more persuasive than some svelte 20 something, let's be honest here - they are made out of rubber and magic at that age, pilates for them is just showing off. So my class is now mostly men, fellow blokes who have seen the light and heard my sermons. The ladies who are in the class are fabulous and we all have a slightly lewd sense of humour, almost no subject is off limits - lets face it we have all involuntarily farted in front of each other!
The first order differential for the equation of an ellipse is 
again you will appreciate the significance and beautiful simplicity of this shortly.
So this week were were focusing on basic core strength. Mine is terrible, but slowly improving, however I am able to perform the position that the lady in the click baitey image above is doing. It is a shitload harder than it looks and you are expected to stretch out in a controlled fashion, laying almost but not quite fully flat out and then regain that shape whilst remaining firmly perched on your arse (ass for our American chums). This I can do. Mostly, sometimes. However, last night as I raised myself back into the position, my legs were not parallel. The lycra clad punisher decided to offer me help by gracefully bending over, clasping my knees and gently pushing them together.
Evolution is a wonderful thing. Nothing in your body is by accident, it is there as a direct result of a process of elimination. If, for example, testicles were square - then it would be possible to crush them between your legs. Joyfully nature has anticipated this possibility and hence testicles are broadly elliptical in shape. If an even pressure is applied, lets say by your thighs being pressed together by a ridiculously beautiful yet powerful woman, then the equations of motion will immediately come into play. One testicle will go backwards and one will squirt forwards. Suddenly, and very very rapidly. A sensation similar to being zapped by a cattle prod will be experienced.
I have a high pain threshold. I simply said to her "Some genital husbandry will be required before we do that again!". She simply said "Oh", smiled sweetly and went off to attend another victim.
Damn, she will kill me one day and I will thank her in the process.
