Fat and exercise

I have no problem with my weight. What I have a problem with is my random storage of fat deposits that interfere with my Jessica Alba impersonations. Like Jess has neck fat or a tummy!

Anyway, in a last-ditch effort to whip my bod into shape I signed up for a Pilates class last semester. I didn't even know what Pilates was, other than that affluent white women were always talking about doing it, and honestly, that was really all I needed to know. I like dressing up like I'm going to work out, because it's like I'm on a mission. Further, I like to imagine (delusionally? Perhaps) that people are like, "wow? She's going to work out? I am just so completely impressed by how healthy she is. Maybe someday she and I will be BFFs... please, God?". You know what? That isn't a delusion. I know that's what people are thinking.

But yeah, that's where the fun ends. Because after you get all dolled up to go to the gym you actually have to... go to the gym. And though, in theory, I liked the idea of working out my abs, I didn't end up liking the whole, uh, working out part. Because -- and after years of being MIA from the playground and dodging high school phys. ed requirements by doing marching band (phew!) -- I think I never realized that exercise isn't nearly as fun as it looks when you're the one exercising. Moreover, Pilates is difficult. I mean, really hard. We had a weightlifter in that class, and his veins were always popping out of his neck in a really gross way, practically mocking me for trying to lose some of that derriere.

So, even though I nodded and smiled sweetly at the instructor when, at the end of the semester, she asked the class how many of us would do Pilates exercises regularly in the future (wow, I lie a LOT), I knew it wasn't going to happen. Just like wearing a hat or getting work done while baking cookies. Or Michael Cera not being typecast, again.

Unfortunately, the Ghost of Pilates Past has followed me here. After doing my physical therapy stretches religiously for about a week, I demonstrated "bird-dog", the first in my four-stretch series, for the therapist (note: I was not involved in the naming process. Because "bird-dog" would not have made it to the cutting-room floor, if I'd had my way. Lame!).

"Hmm," she said, pursing her lips. Not a good sign. "See... these exercises... you should be working really hard when you stretch, keeping a neutral spine," she explained.

Turns out I was doing it completely wrong. That's why it wasn't that painful. So I'm back to Pilates, doing ridiculous sit ups that should ideally strengthen my back. While working out my abs and thighs intensely. Argh. Looks like I have no choice but to get in shape. Help?

P.S. The pictures: my submissions for the Cold Mountain cover art contest (mountains at the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Town's Table Mountain during ascent to View Point) and a church in town.