A Girl...

The Road to Splitsville

Monday marked the beginning of our third Exercise in Earnest Campaign. We've been going to the gym together semi-regularly for at least six months now, but whereas Simon has been good at making time to swim and run and go to spin class during the day, my evenings were unproportionally devoted to spreading out on the couch in front of Entertainment Tonight, which, as you might guess, does not a firm booty make. Although I was going to the gym, my record was always spotty at best--three days one week, one the next, zero the next, two the next--and sure, it's better than nothing, but I suspect there's little to no cumulative effect in a schedule that irregular; my body was merely getting through the sessions without actually adjusting to the increased demand by bolstering its endurance, strengthening its muscle fibers, and burning excess fat. I was basically just paying lip service to my fitness goals.

But now, for the third time, we're buckling down, and Simon is even adhering to a spreadsheet grid designed to get him ready for his tri events this summer and fall. I will not, I repeat, WILL NOT be participating in any triathlons myself, but I am nevertheless still afflicted with a condition that has me prefer working out with my beau to staying home and eating chocolate cake without him, so that can only be a good sign. People of the world: If you need motivation to exercise, consider getting a super-hot workout buddy.

As we're only three days into the new schedule, it's too soon to make any predictions about its success or my willpower, but stay tuned. Last night I didn't have time to hit the elliptical between work and Twin Peaks night with Teddy, but I nevertheless went home and did lunges, squats, crunches, and stretches on the living room floor. During Entertainment Tonight. See--I can have the best of both worlds.

And speaking of stretching, the other day when I was at the gym I was stretching next to some tiny gymnasty girl, who was doing the splits this way and that, wearing her knees for earrings, putting her heels in her mouth, and generally making me crazy with her wanton contortioning. Why? Because I used to be able to do all that stuff. I started dance classes when I was eleven, and by the time I graduated from high school, I had been dancing five days a week for several years. I was all kinds of bendy. The first two or three years of college, I even took a step aerobics class every semester and kept up my flexibility, but now that I've been out of college longer than I was in college, my body's not what it used to be--mostly from lack of trying.

Wanna hear something dumb? My inability to do center splits with my chest flat on the ground anymore is one of the reasons I can't commit to a yoga class. (The other reason is I have too much head chatter to concentrate on my breathing and "just be.") The handful of times I've gone to a yoga class, the minute I saw the instructor and a few of the students doing advanced stretches that I used to be able to do, I got jealous and competitive and became irreversibly unable to concentrate on the rhythm of my heart and let the outside world just fade away like a babbling brook flowing off into the misty distance. I would watch them throw their legs around their necks or slide into side splits with their back legs bent at the knees to touch their toes ever so delicately to the top of their heads, and even though I knew if I attempted those moves I would pull my groin and be out of commission for a week, I would get so frustrated that I'd attempt them anyway and then, yes, pull my groin and be out of commission for a week. If I ever try yoga again, I'll make sure I've spent several months conditioning myself so I can split when the instructor says split. It's a bit like washing my hair before I go to the salon or painting my toenails before getting a pedicure, isn't it? Told you it was dumb. Pride: it's a waste of time unless it involves rainbow flags and leather chaps with nothing underneath.