If we had been fortunate enough to have met Joseph Hubertus Pilates in his later years — lean, strong, and full of energy — we would never guess he had once been a sickly child. Born in Germany in 1883, Joe battled asthma, rickets, and rheumatic fever. Doctors didn’t expect much from him physically, but Joe had other plans. Determined to rebuild himself, he studied everything he could get his hands on: gymnastics, boxing, wrestling, yoga, martial arts, even animal movement.

By his early adulthood, he was a picture of health — proof that his body could be transformed through discipline and intelligent training. Then came World War I. Joe was interned in England, where he began refining a system of exercises that could be done anywhere, by anyone. While working in a hospital, he rigged up bed springs to help injured soldiers regain their strength — the earliest version of what we now know as the Pilates reformer.

After the war, Joe briefly returned to Germany, but in 1926 he boarded a ship to America. On that voyage, he met Clara, a warm and grounded nurse who would become his wife, teaching partner, and the other half of the Pilates story. Together, they opened a small studio in New York City, right next to the New York City Ballet. It wasn’t long before dancers — always in need of injury rehab and strength work — started coming in. Word spread quietly but quickly.

Joe called his method Contrology — the art of controlling your body through your mind. He believed true health was a balance of strength, flexibility, posture, and deep, mindful breathing. But Joe wasn’t interested in teaching the masses. He was notoriously selective, working only with people he felt were serious about learning. Quality mattered more to him than quantity.

One of those chosen few was Romana Kryzanowska, a young dancer recovering from an ankle injury. Joe and Clara saw her potential and trained her extensively. Romana would later become one of the most important figures in keeping Contrology alive, passing it on exactly as she’d learned it.

Joe taught with passion — sometimes fiery, sometimes gruff — right into his 80s. He often said, “You are only as young as your spine is flexible.” When he passed away in 1967, he left behind a method that was small in numbers but rich in depth. Thanks to Clara, Romana, and a handful of devoted students, his work didn’t fade. It grew — slowly at first, then rapidly — into what we now simply call Pilates, practiced by millions around the world.

And yet, if Joe were here today, he’d probably remind us that it’s not about the numbers. It’s about doing the work with precision, purpose, and respect — just the way he intended.