The Gym Nazi is a midget

Congratulations to me, I have managed to get off my butt.
So far I have been to an Aerobics class, a Pilates class and a 1 hour walk. The walk was only because I forgot to take the map to the classes and I kept getting lost, but nevertheless I get the points for it and I earnt the right to stuff my face with chocolate mousse on my return to Casa Drudy. Which I did.
The exercise classes were held at the unfortunately named Downs centre, where I fit right in.
The class instructor is an ex CIA, FBI, SS and IRA agent who has provided consulting services to Hamas, Hezebollah, Taliban, Al Quaeda, Edi Amin, Mugabe, Pol Pot, Adolf Hitler, Conan the Barbarian and Oscar the Grouch on advanced torture methods to housewives.
The woman is about 3 foot tall and 2 inches wide - a tiny blond bullet with an arse that could crack a walnut, and a face that could crack a mirror. Imagine the story of Peter Pan with the alternative ending where Tinkerbell gets on her back for Captain Hook. The resultant offspring would be the gym nazi. Oh come on, we all know Tinkerbell was gagging for it. Pity that Peter was a poof.
God I hope she never reads this blog - the gym nazi, that is. Or Tinkerbell, for that matter. One person actually died in the Tueday Butts Thighs and Guts class.
The Pilates class today was somewhat more sedate and only resulted in 2 people reduced to tears, one after suffering a mild stroke whose subsequent request to drop her pelvic floor was denied. Apparently one is never allowed to drop ones pelvic floor.
I'm too scared to ask what the hell my pelvic floor is. Logically, its the bottom of my pelvis - which is my bottom!
Is "pelvic floor" the fancy new word for my arse? Am I sposed to walk around all day with my arse lifted, like a cat on heat?
On the upside, the Drudester quite likes this new-look gait as it gives him ease of access.
So its smiles all round.