Recently, I did something bold—something brave—something that made me question all of my life choices up to that very moment: I took a Pilates class.

Now, before you envision something graceful and serene—me on a mat, breathing deeply, gliding effortlessly through a series of poses with the poise of a swan—let me stop you right there. This wasn’t yoga with wind chimes and soothing whispers. This was warfare. Internal warfare. Against my own hamstrings.

Pilates is one of those sneaky little things that sounds like it’s going to be gentle. Slow, controlled movements. Focused breathing. A mind-body connection. What it actually is … is a full-blown existential crisis performed in yoga pants.

Five minutes in, I was wheezing like a busted accordion, drenched in sweat like I’d been interrogated under hot lights, and trembling so violently I’m fairly certain someone considered calling an ambulance. At one point, I’m pretty sure I briefly left my body and hovered above myself, watching this sad, quivering version of me try to lift one leg and hold it. Just … hold it.

It’s the isolating of the muscle that does you in. Your core screams. Your inner thighs light up like Christmas. And your brain, once so confident in your own coordination, goes mysteriously offline. I was flailing around like one of those inflatable wavy-arm guys in front of a car dealership. Only less charming.

But—here’s the thing.

Somewhere between the wheezing and the mild panic, I had this moment. A flicker of pride. Because I showed up. I tried. And even though I looked like a baby deer on an icy lake, I didn’t quit. I did the hard thing. And that matters.

Doing something outside your comfort zone reminds you what you’re made of. That you’re capable of tackling the scary, the difficult, the humiliating—even when your quads beg for mercy and your dignity is nowhere to be found.

I had the added joy (and humility) of doing this alongside my college-age daughter, who handled the class with much more athletic grace. But honestly? I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world. I know the day is coming when she’ll be off living her grown-up life and I’ll no longer be in her daily orbit. So, for now, I’ll take every sweaty second.

Even if it means whispering desperate prayers mid-set and wondering if this is how it all ends—face-down on a mat, betrayed by my glutes.

To anyone out there thinking they’re too old, too out of shape, or too embarrassed to start something new: go anyway. Shake, sweat, stumble … and do it anyway.

You’ll thank yourself later. After the ibuprofen kicks in.

Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.