It Happened To Me: Jane Pratt Saved My Life

On a random weekday afternoon in 2016, I walked into an unglamorous exercise studio in a nondescript patch of Manhattan, in the dumpy-in-patches East 20s. I’d signed up for something called a Gyrotonic class, which I’d never taken before. Back then, ClassPass was unlimited boutique exercise classes for $100 a month, so I tried everything and anything.

“Caitlin Marnell,” I said, checking in at the desk. 

In New York City, there are two kinds of Pilates studios. The first kind has great lighting, reed fragrance diffusers, brand-new white reformers, and a clientele of Hailey Bieber-looking women in matching co-ord sets. The second kind has arcane-looking equipment, a strange studio layout that occupied with a rent-controlled lease since 1997, old school male instructors in their early sixties who talk in a New Yawk accent, and clients like me, who regularly show up in Amy Winehouse eyeliner and a Pornhub sports bra.

I go to both kinds of studios, but I prefer the latter. They’re never full. This studio, on that day in 2016, was arcane, and full of dusty fake plants. I was going to be the only one in the class. Or was I?

The other client arrived. She was a small woman, like me, and blonde.

“Jane?” I gasped.

“Cat!” 

We burst into laughter. 

“Of course you’re here on a random Wednesday,” I said. “You weirdo.”

“Of course YOU’RE here,” Jane said.

The class started. It was just me and Jane. I’d never done Gyrotonic before. Our instructor was a little old man. Gyrotonic machines pull you, to stretch your spine. By practicing Gyrokinesis, you work to open up places that are tight and weak, with repetition and breath. 

The machines require that you place your feet in stirrups, then spread your legs open repeatedly in circles. You’re really meant to be listening to your body, which I had plenty of time to do. The instructor seemed completely fixated on Jane. The old man walked over to Jane and began his adjustments.

“Breathe,” he was saying. “Hip down. Pelvis tilted.”

“Oh, okay …” Jane kept saying.