Much ado about abdominals

“What does it mean when someone refers to abdominal muscle appearance as ‘six-pack’ abs?’ I asked my 25-year old daughter who breathes only to find the next exercise regimen. Kate’s gone from to Bosu Ball Aerobics class to Zumba workout; one might say from A to Z; I knew she would be my optimal information source.

“A six pack of what?’ I elaborated. “Beer cans lying sideways?” “Diet Coke?”

Personally, I’d always coveted the concave belly, since I had inherited my mother’s little “pooch.” No matter how slender I grew while incorporating brutal diet plans into my quest for the perfect figure, I failed to achieve that flat-as-a-pancake tummy in a bathing suit. Once I birthed two children, I christened it “the baby house,” and thereby formed the rationale for its permanence in addition to the reason for my neglect of any sort of abdominal calisthenic be it the dreaded sit-up, that nemesis that had caused me to flunk every Presidential Fitness Test in school, or even the more reserved and recent version of it, the crunch.

“Yes!” chirped Kate. “It’s refers to a six pack of canned beverage, turned sideways—horizontally, and stacked on top of each other in three rows of two. That’s what you want your stomach to look like.”

And why? Is this attractive? Flat I get; bulging aluminum drink cans I don’t.

“You’re so funny, Mom. It means you look fit!”

At 58 years old and grateful to never have to don another bathing suit or crop top, I doubt anyone but my mirror and my husband (who, trust me, won’t notice) will see my mid-section. Oh, and maybe a surgeon at some point, but not a plastic one.

My most recent addition to my daily walk, a form of meditation that will most certainly never culminate in a six-pack for either me or my dog unless it’s what we drink after we get back to the porch, is Mari Winsor’s Circle Pilates. I decided my lower back needed strengthening and my balance required a boost, so my older daughter Clary recommended I check out the DVD. “Brad already has it, and the circle too,” she persuaded.

I was astonished to find that I enjoy it—the quintessential combination of low impact (I lie down the entire time which is always a good thing) and muscle toning technique that isn’t so difficult that I’m struggling in and out of impossible positions. I’d attempted Yoga and was daunted by various dog poses. Circle Pilates, I could accomplish, and painlessly.

One day led to another and another and before long, I was “performing,” as Mari Winsor puts it, the exercises nearly every day. I would hear her speak of “results,” but paid no mind, since number one, I didn’t expect any and number two, was only doing it to stretch, honestly.

Lo and behold when Clary visited from New York recently, she strolled into my bathroom to borrow a blow dryer after we’d worked out together to the Circle Pilates DVD. I had just stepped out of the shower and was reaching for my towel.

“Mom! You have a sic-pack! Look at it!” I glanced in the mirror.

“Is that what it looks like?” I wondered.

“Has Brad seen this?” And with that she waited only long enough for me to pull on sweats and a T-shirt , then dragged me out to the shop where Brad was working.

“Have you seen your wife’s six-pack?” she howled when we opened the door to see him laboring over a project.

“I’ve seen my wife’s…..” he cut off his declaration in view of his step daughter’s possible sensibilities.

When she lifted the T-shirt, his eyes widened. Obviously, the next word wasn’t going to have been “stomach.”

So much ado over so very little, I thought as Clary revered my recent abdominal achievement. I mean, who really cares?

“Impressive!” Brad nodded and tossed me a winsome look.

I guess I do.