Motion is Lotion

Leslie Guerin • May 22, 2025

What a Wise Client Taught Me—and How It Echoes Through the Work of Pilates and Barre Pioneers

Motion Is Lotion

“Motion is lotion.”

That simple, clever phrase first entered my vocabulary thanks to a cherished client named Nancy, when I was teaching Pilates within a physical therapy clinic. She said it casually, as we moved through some gentle spinal mobility work together, and I paused mid-roll down, struck by how perfectly it captured the heart of what I teach every day.

I wish I had thought of it first.

In those three words lies the core philosophy of two of the greatest movement minds I’ve ever had the pleasure to study—Joseph Pilates and Lydia Bach, my mentor and the woman who brought the Lotte Berk Method from London to New York. Before "functional fitness" was a buzzword, before physical therapy was the well-established field it is now, they understood that movement heals. Movement strengthens. Movement transforms.

Motion is lotion. For the joints, the muscles, the fascia—and even for the soul.

The Birth of Functional Fitness

Before we dive deeper into why those three words are so powerful, let’s rewind.

Joseph Pilates

Joseph Pilates was a visionary who believed that modern life had made people weak and disconnected from their bodies. He developed his system, originally called “Contrology,” to restore alignment, strength, breath, and presence. It wasn’t just about abs or flexibility—it was about whole-body integration, balance, and health.

He also had the ingenuity to invent equipment—what we now call the Reformer, Cadillac, Wunda Chair, and more—to help rehabilitate and reeducate the body. He understood something that would take the medical and fitness communities decades to catch up with: we must move to get better, not just rest.

Lydia Bach & The Lotte Berk Method

Meanwhile, Lydia Bach was expanding upon a movement philosophy that merged ballet technique, orthopedic awareness, and strength training, long before cross-training was even a concept. The Lotte Berk Method was originally created by Lotte Berk, a German dancer living in London, as a way to stay strong through injury. Lydia studied with her, bought the rights, and brought the method to NYC, adapting and evolving it into something functional, fierce, and feminine.

What I learned from Lydia was not just movement patterns—it was precision, discipline, and how to work around (and sometimes into) discomfort to come out the other side stronger.

Sound familiar? Like Pilates, the Lotte Berk Method at its heart was about mobility, strength, and fluidity—even in pain.

Pain Says Stop—But It Doesn’t Always Mean "Don’t Move"

When we experience pain—especially after an injury—our first instinct is to stop everything.

We stiffen. We guard. We avoid. We say things like “I can’t,” or “I’ll never be able to do that again.” Pain becomes the boss of our bodies. And for a little while, that’s appropriate.

Rest matters. Recovery matters.

But here’s the truth: healing doesn’t happen in stillness alone.

Once the acute phase of injury passes, the body needs circulation, oxygen, neuromuscular input, and load in order to rebuild. And you can’t get any of those things if you’re stuck in fear or inaction.

This is the subtle dance we help our clients navigate as movement professionals—listening to the body while also nudging it forward, safely and intelligently.

This is why Nancy’s phrase stuck with me. It’s simple, accessible, and true.

Motion is lotion.

Move it—even gently—and things start to change. Blood flows. Synovial fluid nourishes joints. Muscles activate. The nervous system rewires. The body begins to trust itself again.

What Motion Looks Like in a Real Body

Here’s what I see in the studio, day after day:

  • A client recovering from a knee replacement starts with tiny seated leg lifts, and a month later is squatting with support.
  • Someone post-back injury lies on the Reformer carriage, terrified to move their spine—and by week three, they’re curling and bridging and smiling again.
  • A former dancer who hasn’t moved in years because of chronic pain gets back to the barre and feels like herself for the first time in ages.

None of this happens overnight. And none of it happens by doing nothing.

The motion doesn’t have to be big, flashy, or Instagram-worthy. It just has to be intentional. It has to be guided. And it has to be consistent.

Discomfort vs. Pain: A Critical Difference

One of the most important lessons we can teach our clients (and remind ourselves) is this:

There’s a difference between pain and discomfort.

Pain is sharp, alarming, and often signals danger. It’s your body’s red flag.

Discomfort, on the other hand, is where growth happens. It’s the tight hamstring slowly lengthening. It’s the trembling glute trying to fire. It’s the deep abdominal muscles waking up after years of dormancy.

Learning to distinguish between the two is a lifelong practice—but it’s essential if we’re going to move into healing instead of around it.

Sometimes, we do have to move into discomfort to expand our capacity. Not to “push through pain” in a reckless way, but to honor that movement might not always feel easy or good at first—and that’s okay.

Dance Medicine: Before Physical Therapy Had a Name

Long before exercise was prescribed in a clinical setting, dancers and movement teachers were crafting methods to rehabilitate their own bodies.

  • They learned what movements helped them stay supple and injury-free.
  • They noticed what made their backs feel better after long rehearsals.
  • They knew when to modify, when to pause, and when to push.

Joseph Pilates worked with dancers from the New York City Ballet and beyond. His studio on 8th Avenue in NYC became the go-to place for performers recovering from injury or looking to strengthen. His approach laid the groundwork for modern physical therapy, sports conditioning, and injury prevention.

Lydia Bach, too, trained actors, models, and dancers in her Lotte Berk studio in New York. But what always struck me was how she encouraged everyone to work like an artist—intentionally, precisely, and with deep curiosity. She taught us to look at the body as a system, not in parts. Just as Joseph did.

In many ways, they were the original movement therapists.

Your Body Wants to Move—Even When It Hurts

Pain can make us feel like our body has betrayed us. It can make us lose confidence, feel fragile, or even angry.

But here’s what I know for sure:

Your body wants to heal. Your body wants to move.

It just needs help remembering how.

That’s where teachers, guides, and coaches come in. We don’t diagnose or treat, but we hold space. We offer structure. We suggest patterns that might open a door.

And sometimes, we just repeat phrases like “motion is lotion” to anchor our clients back into hope.

Bringing the Wisdom Forward

I think about Nancy often. She probably had no idea how much that small phrase impacted me. It wasn’t just catchy—it was a reminder. That we already have the tools. That simplicity works. That if we move with awareness, we can heal.

Every time I teach a spinal articulation, a hamstring curl, or a standing thigh sequence at the barre, I think about the legacy of Joseph and Lydia. The brilliance of their systems. The foresight in their understanding that movement isn’t just for fitness—it’s for function, for freedom, and for healing.

Final Thoughts: Keep Moving, Keep Listening

If you’re injured, scared, or unsure where to start—start small. Breathe. Wiggle your toes. Stretch your spine. Reach overhead. Roll down and up.

Get guidance if you need it. Ask your teacher questions. Modify when you must. But above all—don’t stop moving.

Because motion really is lotion.
For your joints, yes—but also for your confidence.
For your independence.
For your life.


By Leslie Guerin February 22, 2026
There is a common misunderstanding about Pilates that has grown louder over the years: that it is meant to be gentle, slow, soft and easy. A “nice” workout. But that was never the intention. Pilates was not created to be performative. It was created to be effective. Effectiveness in movement does not come from looking impressive. It comes from precision. Somewhere along the way, the visual of Pilates became louder than the method itself. Long limbs moving with beautiful choreography and endless repetitions. Classes that look like Pilates. But looking like Pilates, being called Pilates and being Pilates are not the same thing. And most people, including many teachers, skip the part that actually makes it work. Pilates Was Never Meant to Be Performative Joseph Pilates did not design a system that rewarded momentum. He designed a system that required attention. Not attention to how something looks, though that is how you can tell if the exercises is executed properly. The attention should ideally be to how something is done. Modern fitness culture thrives on performance. Movement is filmed, shared, and packaged visually. The more dynamic it looks, the more engaging it appears. The more repetitions, the more it seems productive. This is where Barre and Pilates differ. This is where those lines have blurred and I quietly hope Pilates can resists this fad. A well-taught Pilates class may look almost uneventful from the outside. To someone expecting entertainment, it can seem understated. To the nervous system, it is deeply demanding. Because Pilates was never designed to entertain the eye. It was designed to reorganize the body. It is art, but not for arts sake. Precision Requires Attention Precision creates actual change. When movement becomes rushed, the body defaults to habit. Stronger muscles take over. Momentum replaces control. Alignment becomes approximate instead of intentional. Slowing down in Pilates is not about being gentle. It is about being accurate. It allows the brain to register position, and control. It gives the body time to respond instead of react. Precision is not passive. It is neurologically active. Holding a half curl with the neck long, ribs quiet, and breath organized requires far more attention than swinging through ten repetitions with momentum. Performing a leg circle without pelvic movement demands significantly more control than making the circle bigger or faster. The difficulty in Pilates is rarely about load. It is about coordination. Coordination should not be rushed for the sake of getting in more repetitions. Many Classes Look Like Pilates, But Aren’t Being Taught to Bodies This is where the disconnect becomes most visible. Exercises are demonstrated, copied and followed. Social media has taken the see and steal culture to new lengths! This leads to the body in front of the teacher is not being taught properly. Clients are becoming carbon copies of braod movements seen online and just simply being asked to replicate. There is a difference between cueing choreography and teaching movement. When classes focus primarily on what the exercise should look like, participants often compensate without realizing it. The neck grips during abdominal work. The hip flexors dominate leg movements. The lower back absorbs what the abdominals were meant to support. From the outside, everything appears correct. From the inside, the wrong muscles are doing the work. I know this to be true, because I have definitely performed Pilates.. and on an off day... I am sure I will unfortunately do this again. This has allowed me to really see though, that Pilates teaching requires observation. It requires adjusting range of motion, tempo, setup, and intention based on the individual body, not the idealized version of the exercise. Because the goal of Pilates is not uniform movement. It is intelligent movement. Real Pilates Feels Quieter, and More Demanding Neurologically One of the most surprising experiences for clients transitioning from performative classes to precise Pilates is how “quiet” it feels. There is less rushing and far less choreography for the sake of variety. Yet, thes classes often feels more challenging. Not because it is harder in the traditional fitness sense. But because it requires sustained mental engagement. You cannot mentally check out during precise Pilates. You are asked to notice: Where your ribs are How your pelvis is responding Whether your neck is assisting unnecessarily If your breath is supporting or disrupting the movement Which muscles are initiating versus compensating This level of awareness increases the neurological demand significantly. The brain is actively mapping movement rather than passively repeating it. That is why Pilates can feel deceptively demanding even when the exercises appear small or controlled. It is not about exhaustion. It is about organization. Gentle Is Often a Misinterpretation of Control When Pilates is described as gentle, it is usually because it lacks impact, heavy loading, or aggressive pacing. But low impact does not equal low intensity. Holding alignment under control. Moving without compensation and maintaining precision through fatigue. These are not gentle skills. They are refined skills. In fact, when Pilates is taught with true precision, many clients realize they have been overworking the wrong areas for years. Their hip flexors tire quickly. Their neck becomes aware. Their deep abdominals fatigue in ways they never noticed before. Not because the workout is harsher. But because it is finally specific. Specificity feels different than intensity. Why Precision Gets Skipped Skipping precision is rarely intentional. It is often the result of: Large class sizes Fast-paced programming Overemphasis on choreography Teacher insecurity around slowing things down The pressure to make classes feel “worth it” through visible effort Precision requires time. It requires observation. It requires confidence in subtlety. And subtle teaching can feel risky in a culture that equates visible sweat with value. But when precision is skipped, the method gradually becomes diluted. Exercises become shapes instead of tools. Cueing becomes generalized instead of specific. And the neurological depth of Pilates is replaced with surface-level movement. Teaching Pilates to Bodies, Not to Exercises One of the most important shifts a teacher can make is moving from teaching exercises to teaching bodies. An exercise is not the goal. It is the vehicle. Two people performing the same movement may need entirely different cueing, range, and pacing to achieve the intended outcome. Precision means recognizing that and adjusting in real time. It means allowing fewer repetitions with better execution. It means refining setup before adding progression. It means valuing stillness as much as movement. And perhaps most importantly, it means being willing to make the class feel quieter in order to make it more effective. Because when the body is truly learning, it does not need constant spectacle. It needs clarity. The Quiet Demanding Nature of True Pilates Clients who experience precise Pilates often describe it the same way: “It felt small, but I was working so hard.” “I had to concentrate the whole time.” “It was harder than it looked.” This is not accidental. When the nervous system is fully engaged, even controlled movements require significant effort. The demand shifts from gross muscular output to refined neuromuscular coordination. That is the part most people skip. And it is also the part that creates lasting change. Not bigger movements. Better ones. A Method That Rewards Thoughtfulness Pilates does not reward rushing. It does not reward performance. It does not reward spectacle. It rewards attention. It rewards consistency. It rewards intelligent progression. It rewards teachers who are willing to observe rather than simply lead. And in a fitness landscape that increasingly prioritizes how movement looks on camera, this quiet precision becomes even more valuable. Because bodies do not improve through performance. They improve through accurate, repeated, intentional movement. Reclaiming Precision in Modern Pilates Reclaiming precision does not mean making Pilates rigid or overly clinical. It means returning to its original intelligence. It means: Teaching fewer exercises more effectively Slowing down when needed Cueing for sensation, not just shape Observing compensation patterns Prioritizing neurological engagement over visual intensity When this happens, Pilates stops feeling “gentle” in the dismissive sense and starts feeling deeply effective. Subtle. Focused. Demanding in the way that truly organized movement always is. And that is where the real method lives. Not in performance. Not in speed. Not in how impressive it appears. But in the precision that most people overlook. Pilates doesn’t need to be harder.
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