Sunday May 10, 2009
I begin my crusade with a day of rest -because I’m your mother and I said so. Off to a great start…
A few things about me:
I’m an actress in Hollywood. Here, I shall refer to it as H’Wood. It keeps it light and fun in my brain- which is something, I assure you, is necessary for survival. H’Wood is the acting biz, NOT LA- cuz I actually know normal people in LA who don’t want to have anything to do with the entertainment business (those 4.2 people are very friendly). I’m just an actress who happens to live in LA, but who is trying to ‘make it’ in H’Wood. Ya follow?
On the rest of the planet I’m not very old. On Planet H’Wood, I’m about 3 feet under. On the rest of the planet I have a killer bod. On Planet H’Wood I’m the before shot.
I don’t make the rules.
I have a lot of will power- for a lot of things.
I’ve suffered through this crazy acting career for a long time and I show no signs of stopping. Will power. I was told to go on a no yeast, no sugar, no anything-yummy-at-all diet for a month and I did it. Will power. How much will power do I have to keep exercising?
Because I’m thin, I look like I should know how to work a treadmill, or elliptical bike or whatever the hell you call those things.
I have a membership to the YMCA. Here’s my theory: average age at the Y? Gotta be 80 years old. Who would I like to embarrass myself in front of more- 20 year old Hollywood Hunk wannabes or blue hairs? Uh huh. Exactly.
So I’m at the Y… It took me a few weeks of faking a good stretch so I could watch other people mess with buttons on the treadmill before I got on one myself. And even longer after that -crawling along at the lowest speed on the treadmill- that I attempted to steal a glance at a few folks on the step thingy and give that a whirl. Then another month or so to strike up a flirty conversation with the nearest jolly old man so he could show me the way around one of those horrifying weightlifting contraptions.
Here’s what I found: It’s boring. BO-ring. And who likes to sweat? Blech.
So my mission in this war against my gravity-lovin’ derrier, is to find ways to whittle it down or possibilities to perk it up that might actually be fun. Different ways every week. If there’s one thing I hate it’s routine (no, really, it’s exercise, but I don’t want to get repetitive).
This might be self- sabotage because everything I read says the key to reaching your goals is creating a plan and sticking to it. Creating a *gasp* ROUTINE.
But I’m in to self-sabotage. I’m an actress in H’Wood.