By MIA FREEDMAN
About a year ago, after reading yet another interview with Gwyneth Paltrow and her trainer Tracy Anderson, I had a weak moment (or possibly a motivated one) and signed up to the ‘Metamorphosis’ program.
Don’t ask me how it works. I can’t tell you exactly. Because I still don’t understand. But it involved choosing my body type (abcentric – meaning I ‘hold’ weight around my tummy) and paying US$89 to ‘join’. I received….well, I’m not entirely sure what I received because I never played the DVD and I immediately chucked the tape measure in the bin. Was there another disk or something?
Who knows. By the time it arrived, I was over it.
Never even watched the thing until last weekend when for some unknown reason that may have been the remnants of ‘new year’s resolution delusion’, I decided to abandon my usual daily exercise routine and workout with Tracy.
This was highly unusual. For the last two decades, I have been a cardio machine girl. Treadmill and, in the past few years, also elliptical trainer. Always at home. Always in the morning. I have flirted with other types of exercise – ashtanga yoga, pilates, a few pump classes – but I would always default to my treadmill.
And yes I know that the longer you do any form of exercise, the fewer physical transformative benefits you derive. Your body plateaus quickly and you don’t see any noticeable change in your shape or tone. But that’s not really why I exercise. I’m more of a head exerciser than a body one. So long as I can maintain my weight pretty much at the same level, I’m not that focused on changing my body.
Top Comments
This reminds me of an article I read in which Stephanie Rice claimed to eat 3 peaches and a handful of nuts for lunch. I don't want to add to the whole women bitching about other women thing, really I don't, but does she wash it down with a glass on nonsense juice? Does she factor in an hour in the arvo in which she will pass out from malnourishment? No person with a real life, job, kids, whatever, can live like this. Not for more than a week anyway. (Sorry if this has nothing to do with exercise, I just really wanted to use the phrase 'nonsense juice'.)
Chuck in some earphones, find the trashiest, upbeat pop music on your iPod/discman/portable modern music contraption, and dance around the house like you're in a music video. Can also be adapted to cleaning tasks to save time. Sometimes I put on some classical and pretend I'm a Russian ballerina, because hey, why not? Ah, beware of lighting fixtures.