Here’s a really good* story about exercise.
I started using the pilates DVDs on Netflix this week because, you know, it’s a New Year, and I’m a cliché, and I don’t want to die before I turn 30 and at the rate that I consume buffalo chicken products, that is an increasing possibility, but I didn’t want to go to gym because I don’t know; I just hate it there; I hate staring at CNN reports of Kardashian goings-on while I ride a bicycle that goes nowhere; it’s too good of a metaphor. I should probably note here that I have only been to a gym twice, and they were both in the last year. All of my experience exerting energy for the sake of fitness before last year came via watching Mousercise when I was in kindergarten. Anyway, I also don’t like to go to a gym because why is everyone there already so fit and good-looking? And so much younger than me with eyes so full of promise and lungs so full of oxygen? And sweatpants with writing on the butts? You can’t help but feel pathetic in those rooms, like everyone’s staring at you, like they notice that you only spent 8 minutes on that elliptical before you had to stop, but of course they don’t notice that; that’s just the panopticon talking, and also did you know that I only understood what the theory of the panopticon actually was within the last two weeks, when I read the young adult novel The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks? I am jealous of all the teenagers who are going to be able to throw that word around in their high school English classes. Kevin challenged me to use it naturally in conversation over New Years weekend with our friends in the woods; he would have given me $10 if I’d done it but I failed. This is all to say, though, that exercising in front of a television is, as “Kellyn” knew so many years ago, the most ideal of all situations, because I’m pretty sure in real pilates classes, they don’t appreciate you shouting “Nope!” at the teacher when the move is too difficult, nor are you exactly encouraged to say, “Shut up!” and “You smug bitch!” every time they cut to the (silent) blonde lady in a yellow sports bra whose ribs are plenty and countable, who is able to perform every maneuver without losing her white, white, white smile. Fitness!
*Bad
