Category Archives: Being pretty

Another reason why I’ve been on an exercise mission:

Me: Did you hear about the woman who was shot to death in Gardena? So close to my office! My dad said he’s going to buy me pepper spray, but I’m kind of afraid to carry it.

Matt: Why, because you think you’ll eat it? Maybe spray some on your meals?

Me: Grrrr.

This morning, I tried something called The Bar Method, which is a trendy fitness program where you do all these exercises at the ballet bar. Lots of lengthening your neck, lifting your rib cage and “tucking in.” It’s hard. I sucked. They had this 30-day introductory special and I signed up because I’m compulsive like that. And because I would like to stand up more like a pretty peacock than the Hunchback. LIFT. LIFT. LIFT. I’m a ballerina. Tee hee.

Alice: So we’re really going to do this?

Me: We have to. I can only wear dresses now. My jeans are too tight.

Alice: At least you can wear dresses. I’ve resorted to mumus.

So, for anyone who wants to join us:
6:30 a.m. (kill me now!)
Contact me for the location.
Bring running shoes.
And some inspiration.
Example:

See you there.

I haven’t been doing so well in the pretty department. I’ve had these patches of eczema on my neck and near my ear like forever and I haven’t really felt prompted to go to the doctor to fix them. They’ve gotten kinda bad. I used to use this prescription steroid cream that stared with an FL, had about 24,000 letters in between and ended with an NE, but I’m hesitant to request it again. That stuff was magical — seriously, crack for my skin — but it’s a steroid, so won’t it make my neck bulk up like the Terminator and give me an Austrian accent?

I realized that I’m probably all flarin’ up due to stress. I learned that I internalize my stress after working as a reporter in Arizona. My co-workers would curse and shout and cry every time they had a big deadline, and I could totally empathize, but I never showed my own stress that way. Instead, there’d be these waves of doubt and worry crashing through my insides, which I would try to calm through snacks. Oh yeah, I’ve been eating a lot of snacks lately. Stress is making me uggo!

When my sister called me at work today to see if I wanted to go to the gym, I said with mild enthusiasm, “OK.” I figured I really needed finish the last couple chapters of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and those straight-backed exercise bikes make for rather comfy reading stations. The loftier goal, of course, was to start busting my bum into shape so that maybe, just maybe, I would be mistaken for one of the models at this week’s fashion show. Yeeeah. I decided to stick with the original endeavor.

So when we got there, I was all ready to plop my stuff down and enjoy me some Jonathan Safran Foer, when my sister peeked her head into a spin class, which was starting, like, in 10 seconds. “Let’s take this,” she said, motioning me over. I, never having the ability to stand up to to peer pressure, shrugged and said “OK.”

This was my very first spin class. It was hard. It was fast and then slow and then fast. At various moments, I was blinded by the beads of sweat that drizzled into my eyes. But I kept on going. Those big girls are good. I must’ve burned a million calories. Or at least 160. My sister thinks her butt got a little bit firmer. I think my inner thighs have slightly deeper indentations. Now, everything hurts.

It was an hour well spent.