she didn’t go into labor this week, they’d be inducing her on Monday.
“Do you want to come take a class tomorrow?” Lainie asked. She was always trying to get Claire to the studio, trying to convert her to the world of Pilates. But Claire was hesitant—the machines frightened her. Still, she agreed since she had nothing else to do.
AT THE PILATES STUDIO, LAINIE WAS treated like a celebrity. She introduced all the women to Claire as though they were her close friends. “This is Barbara and this is Joanie. I’m so glad you are getting a chance to meet!” She acted like these middle-aged women with fallen stomachs and wiggly arms were the same age she was, just a bunch of gal pals getting ready to work out together.
Lainie had started taking Pilates right after Jack was born, and the teacher was so impressed with her that she suggested she do the teacher training. “But you’ve been going to the classes for like two months,” Claire remembered saying to her.
“I know, it’s crazy,” was Lainie’s response.
And it was crazy, how Lainie stumbled onto this career. She’d never done well in school, which Claire thought was mostly because she never wanted to sit down long enough to study or do homework. She rushed through everything, scribbling down answers to tests, knowing that they were probably wrong. It was like she was just trying to get on to the next thing. She was never bothered by her grades; she’d just look at her B’s and C’s and nod, like Yep, that’s about what I expected.
But at the studio, Lainie excelled. She quickly became one of the most popular teachers there. Her classes were always full, and they kept adding more to her schedule. One day, a student of hers approached her and asked if she’d ever thought about starting her own studio. “I’d back you,” the woman said. “I’ll be an investor. I know you’d be wildly successful.”
And she had been. Lainie always called that woman her Fairy Godmother, which seemed perfect to Claire, because at least then Lainie was acknowledging that she was living in a fairy tale. Two years later, a large portion of the studio’s mortgage had been paid off, Lainie had hired three other teachers, and the place was thriving.
Claire was always amazed when she went to the studio. Amazed at the way these women flocked there, not for Pilates, but for Lainie. They seemed to think that if they remained devoted, they would one day turn into her. There were loads of women in their thirties who had just had children and believed that Lainie could save them, could get them back to the body they used to have. They’d look at her and think, Well, she’s had three children, and look at her. All I need to do is some Pilates! They were Lainie’s disciples, her faithful following. They believed.
Claire wanted to pull these women aside and whisper to them, leaning in close to say, “Look, I know you think you can have a stomach like that if you take these classes, that if you do enough Pilates, your arms will look just like hers. But they won’t be. She always looked like that, even before she ever started this, when she never exercised and ate fast food all the time. It’s not real.”
It was like when you were younger and believed that it was just a matter of time before you would become a gymnastics gold medalist, or a Broadway star. But then you got to a certain age, and you realized that the gymnasts at the Olympics were all younger than you, and that you couldn’t sing either; and just like that your visions of being a balance beam superstar or playing Annie onstage were gone.
Claire’s friend Allison, who was extremely flat-chested, once confessed that she’d believed for years that her breasts would grow. “In high school, I just thought I was a late bloomer,” she said. “In college, I just figured it would happen later for me. And now, I’m twenty-nine and I think it’s time to admit that this is it. I’m never going to have boobs.”
People couldn’t help but hope for what they wanted to become—even if it meant deluding themselves. And so Claire felt bad as she watched the parade of women that marched into Lainie’s Wednesday afternoon mat class, their bodies wrapped in expensive, cute spandex outfits, their hair pulled back in ponytails. Claire set herself up in the