Category Archives: Fitness

Companies that should be paying me

Since so many people have been asking me about these two things, I figured I’d give my official endorsement. Buy now! Michelle Woo Approved!

My funny shoes, aka Vibram Five Fingers

Today, at The Stairs of Pain, no fewer than six people stopped and pointed at them. “Oh my gosh, where did you get those? Are they comfortable?” I have my little spiel down pat: They’re meant for fitness training, they work muscles you never knew you had, they’re super comfy and they’re fun! (I got them here but you can get them online on Amazon or REI. Mine were about $75.) I’m from California, where we don’t own socks, so these are great for me. I really do feel like I’m barefoot. On trails, I feel each rock and pebble—not in a oooh-ow-ow! way, just in a strangely wonderful let’s-connect-with-the-earth sort of way. They’re a bit tricky to put on (you “lose” a lot of toes) but you get used to them. Another cool thing is that you can throw them in the washing machine.

The Bar Method


Perky bubble butts!

I don’t really have a good spiel for this mostly because after each class, I am unable to formulate intelligible sentences, only moans that sound something like, “Aaaawaahhgaaahowwwwwwww!” But let me tell you, The Bar Method, a combination of ballet, yoga and general hell, will make you hot. I’m sure of it. The exercises—series of small, repetitive motions—are designed to give you good posture, a trim waist, a cute perky bubble butt and long, lean, toned limbs. I’ve done the DVDs and the classes and I’ve gotta say, nothing beats having a real-life instructor there to motivate and scare you into shape. If there’s a studio near you, I’d highly recommend signing up. I’ve been going four times a week and I never thought I’d say this but I’m sort of addicted to the pain. Yeah, I don’t know who I am either.

Skinny

In middle school, I was skinny. Like, skinny skinny. Kids called me “Toothpick” and “Skinny Bone Jones” and “Chicken Legs” and every other uncreative nickname you could think of for girl whose puny 71-pound body drowned in her Hypercolor tees and cuffed denim shorts. In my yearbook, someone even wrote: “Be careful not to fly away when the wind blows!” Har, har, thanks, growl. I hated being skinny. So I ate.

In high school, I was skinny. I wore the elusive size double-zero jeans and still needed a belt, but at least I was starting to look like a human being. Friends emphasized that I was so lucky to be able to scarf down whatever I wanted and not gain an ounce, so I basked in my God-given gift. And I ate.

In college, I was skinny. And oh, I ate. Waffles smothered with strawberry glaze and ice cream for breakfast (dorm food, yum), fast food for lunch, Alberto’s carne asada fries for late-night snacks. I complained that I was starting to look like one of those starving kids from Somalia — frail limbs with a portruding belly, but overall, I was still skinny. And for the first time, I was happy with the way I looked. So I ate more.

When you’ve been skinny throughout your life, you kind of assume that you’ll stay that way forever. In the past few years, I’ve been pretty blah about my body and how it has expanded (I wear like a M/L at Forever 21 – ugh!), but I keep telling myself that it’s no big deal, everyone gains weight as they age, empire-waist tops are still in, I’m still thin by American standards, I shouldn’t compare myself to others, Sausage McMuffins make me really happy and in the end, isn’t that what’s important?

But the truth is, I’m sick of seeing my gut spill over my pajama pants as I sit indian-style in front of my closet mirror and do my makeup. I’m sick of not being able to see my hoo-ha when look down in the shower. I’m sick of having to do five squats every time I put on my jeans to give my thighs a teensy bit of breathing room. I’m sick of not feeling hot.

This weekend, I cleaned out my closet and got rid of three giant trash bags of old clothes. (They’ll be donated, or sold, or something.) Most items were chucked because I no longer like them, but many items were begrudgingly shoved in a bag because I just can’t fit them anymore. I wistfully showed Matt one of my favorite tops from college, a lacy halter that, in my own words, “brought all the boys to the yard.” He urged me to try it on and for some stupid reason, I did. The thing looked like a fancy sports bra. It was kind of a wake-up call.

Anyway, this whole memoir here is to announce that Matt and I are in a competition. We’re both aiming to lose 10 pounds by mid-February. There are prizes and such, but really, we just want to be sexy.

I don’t know what sort of lifestyle changes I should make, so any advice would be appreciated.

I’m excited.

I’m gonna be skinny.

Booyah.

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We did it!

It’s funny. My body felt pretty much intact after two hours of running through mud (uphill!), crawling though tunnels, climbing over walls (with the help of boys in uniform) and hiking upward through a downward stream, but I think I pulled a thigh muscle when we took this post-race picture. Sad. Worth it, though.

Everyone should do the Mud Run at least once. It’s the most fun ass-kickin’ you’ll ever experience.

Michelle’s body update

I’ve been doing the fitness thing with a surprising amount of consistency and gusto. Today was a little nuts as I exercised not once but twice with a run in the morning and Bar Method in the evening. This morning, Alice and I ran our Fastest Mile Ever. You see, neither of us had a watch on us, but the mile we ran just seemed really fast. When we crossed the finishing mark, we both said, hey, that was our Fastest Mile Ever. And therefore it was. We’re still nowhere near where we planned to be in terms of nonstop distance, but I think it’s because I set unrealistic goals. Week 1: 1 mile. Week 2: 2 miles. Week 3: 3 miles. Week 4:4 miles. Week 5: 5 miles. Week 6: 6 miles. Then MUD RUN!  Sounds like a good schedule, right?  Unfortunately, our legs don’t seem to agree.

The Bar Method is — what can I say? Painfully awesome, awesomely painful — I dunno. Though I really feel like it’s working. The teachers say things like, “If you feel like you’re dying, you’re probably doing it right.” It’s utter torture, but the moment I’m done, I’m like, when can I come back?

I’m not sure if I’ve ever taken exercise this seriously. I’ve always “wanted” to be fit, but I don’t think I ever wanted it. I’d say to myself, you know what? I’m still thin. Then later I’d say, I’m still in the thin range. Then later I’d say, I’m still normal. Then later I’d say, I’m still not fat. Then later I’d say, I’m still smart and have good hair.

So I don’t know what did it. But something inside my brain clicked and suddenly, I wanted it. And when I want something, I obviously know what to do.