Sore Loser

I hate pilates.
In my new strides toward a fitter me, I took a pilates class last night with a friend of mine and it was terrible. I've done four mile races, Turkey Trotted my way through a local park in the rain, I've moved entire apartments by myself and endured the harsh winters of the east coast after spending most of my childhood in the California sun, but my god - ask me to hold one position with my legs and arms in the air for more than 10 seconds and I want to scream bloody murder.
Going into the class, I figured it'd be easy enough. I'd just work on my core, improve - ok, get - some balance and roll around on the mat for an hour. It was my first studio class after a two year absence. I stopped going to anything yoga or mat-related after an unfortunate farting incident at my old gym. "It happens!" is the response I always get, but you try living on a high-fiber diet and doing the downward dog position and not letting something escape. The knowing look from the instructor was enough to keep me away.
So last night, even as my friend and I were leaving the class, we could tell today was going to be rough. I'm sore in places I didn't even know you could be, like on my lower back where I should have gotten a tattoo during Spring Break '04 in Cancun (although, that could be sympathy sore for all the tramp stamps girls are rockin' at my gym). It hurts when I burp, and I can't find a comfortable sitting position right now. I know being sore means "it's working" but I think I'll just go back to running for now.