Let’s take a moment to talk about fitness, shall we? This picture captures the most amount of physical activity I’ve had in…years? And let it be known that the only reason my legs involuntarily sprang into action is because I was late to the Altuzarra show.
The only person who’d be more surprised than I was to find this image (thanks to Man Repeller and Streetfsn) is my middle school gym teacher. By some stroke of genius I procured a letter in the seventh grade diagnosing me with “Sports Asthma”, which very well may be a real thing…but not in my case. Or, my high school gym teacher, who’d watch me do one lap before ducking into the bathroom for the remainder of “running the mile”. Cardio, especially, is not my friend. I prefer some form of Pilates or weight resistance training mainly because you see results without necessarily seeing sweat. As much as I love the idea of yoga, I get bored. So something physiological happens during this mental struggle in a yoga class (or just the beginning of any class) where I can’t stop yawning. But classes are really the way to go, in my case, for motivation purposes. And I love, love, love Keisa Parrish’s SculptWorks session at YogaWorks in SoHo. You get a bungee cord with two handles and lock that puppy into a special wall, and spend an hour doing all kinds of arm and leg exercises to a bangin’ playlist (how key is music???) She says things like, “No Hunchback of Notre Dame!” when you’re not in formation, wears a big flower in her hair, and makes all the exercises look really easy by using a Blue bungee (level two resistance) instead of Red.
Sadly, I haven’t seen Keisa since August (not that I was going all that often in the first place). New York Fashion Week happened, and now I’m headed to Milan and Paris, so I won’t be feeling the burn until October. But that first class back? Oh boy. You know what happens: once you fall off the wagon, getting back on is rough. And for the first time in my life, I’m actually considering getting a trainer. Not all the time—maybe just once a week, to supplement SculptWorks. Trainers seem like a very fancy indulgence, but I’m also beginning to think they’re essential for people who hate exercising. (Ahem.) Because if you’re shelling out that kind of dough on tailoring your body, aren’t you less likely to treat it badly? Somehow I’m thinking that near-nightly pit stop to the corner deli for a Häagen-Dazs bar would become a less appealing—or at least, less responsible—ritual. Also, a former boss used to tell me that your body starts to change in your mid-twenties—that you can’t just keep eating whatever you want, that you will start to see a shift. I’ve seen it. She was right.
I’ll update you on the trainer developments but in the meantime, I’m going with that “I’ll start tomorrow” attitude for a couple more weeks and having prosciutto di Parma, Nutella crêpes, and lots of good coffee. Hopefully that combo will keep this much spring in my step.
