Forget the Show Ponies. Find a Bob.

This morning I went to Pilates. As a middle-aged man, this is a somewhat disorientating experience.

Naturally, I assumed I’d be good at it. After all, having reached the dizzying sporting peak of being school captain of the Under-10s soccer team, my male brain insists that any exercise not involving sustained running and shouting must be a “lesser” form of sport… and therefore easy.

Walking into class, I made a tactical decision not to sit near the hot group of twenty-somethings at the front in coordinated Lulu Lemon. They are clearly my people. I’ll join them in later weeks once I’ve got my bearings. (Note to self: buy Lulu Lemon.)

Instead, I parked myself next to Bob. Bob wasn’t wearing $250 activewear. He had on a retro Woodstock festival tee. Judging by the wrinkles on his forehead, it may well have been original vintage.

The lesson started. I must have been doing well because the instructor spent an awful lot of time focused on me. Apparently my “Floundering Fish” interpretation of a controlled core movement wasn’t entirely aligned with the rest of the class.

Shortly after my legs began shaking. Bob’s didn’t. Bob was serene. Effortless. At one point he performed a crunch so complete that even a Labrador would have nodded in respect as to where his head reached. I, meanwhile, was struggling to lift my head off the mat and with the amount I was sweating wouldn’t want it anywhere near my groin anyway.

The instructor kept telling me to focus on my breathing. At that stage, being told how to move air in and out of my body felt secondary to the fact that I’d already moved some air out earlier in the session… and it was lingering. I blame the pre-Pilates sausage sandwich.

The class ended. Bob pirouetted out, presumably en route to a Himalayan meditation retreat. I briefly considered asking the Lulu Lemon crew if they fancied smashed avo and almond chai, but I caught one of them doing an impression of my Floundering Fish in the mirror, so decided against it and went home for another sausage sandwich.

Taking on a new role is a lot like starting Pilates….

You assume you’ll be good at it — after all, you were hired for your skills. But new roles often require you to use those skills slightly differently. That can feel awkward. Exposed. Self-conscious. Everyone around you seems fluent. Effortless. Like Bob.

Training manuals (like breathwork in Pilates) are helpful… until they become one more thing to think about when your legs are already shaking.

The fastest way to improve?  Copy good form.

It’s easy to gravitate toward the Lulu Lemons — the confident, visible, high-energy operators who look like they’ve got everything sorted. But don’t overlook the Bobs. The quiet achievers. The steady hands. The ones management turns to when something actually matters.

Just make sure you’re copying a Bob… and not a Floundering Fish.

Anyway — that’s all from me.