workin' on my fitness

Skinny people are not allowed to say they're fat.  This is something I've learned over years and years of being close friends with girls.  Girls, in general, are always fat.  Even when they look like Mary Kate after a colonic.  I learned in high school that everyone at lunch needs to talk about how fat they are, and when one girl says she's fat, you have to think of creative ways to seem sincere while assuring them they're not fat.  After about four lunch periods of this, I ran out of creative ways to seem sincere and I realized that it's all ridiculous and no one should say they're fat, unless they're really fat.  Like, break down the walls of my house and airlift me out of here fat.  And even then, stating the fact that you're fat will do nothing to change it.  Unless you're getting your stomach stapled while you're saying it, or on the treadmill running while you're saying it, but people don't typically say that when they're doing those things.

I'm out of shape.  I used to be a state champion gymnast who had three (sometimes more) two-hour workouts a week, the last thirty minutes of which were devoted to sit-ups, push-ups, and other "conditioning" exercises.  I cheated so much during those workouts, but still I was a hottie with a body.  I was also 11 years old.  I stopped competing in gymnastics when I was 13 and my family moved to Las Vegas.  I got fat.  I grew a pair of breasts, had the red lines from my rolls on my stomach every time I stood up and would sometimes wear three shirts in order to hide my chub.  I'll never forget the time my mother tried to inconspicuously ease me into the Husky section, and when I discovered what that meant, the ensuing tantrum in the middle of JC Penny's.

It wasn't until my freshman year of college that I discovered that eating a bag of popcorn every night before bed was probably not conducive to having a healthy looking body.  I decided then and there that I would start running and get into shape.  I'll never forget going to the university gym and getting on the treadmill for the first time.  The reason why I'll never forget it is because I tripped and fell after running for less than two minutes, slid off the treadmill, with my CD player crashing to the ground and out popping Britney Spears' "Oops!...I Did It Again" on display to the baseball player next to me.  I gathered my things, left the batteries which had also fallen out, and left the gym.  True story, in all it's humiliating glory.

But I went back.  I kept going back, and eventually, I went from 190 pounds to 150 pounds.  When I got skinny, people said I was too skinny.  It could have been the coke habit, or being addicted to laxatives, or only eating 1 cup of cereal everyday, but I chalk it up to hard work and healthy eating habits.

Still, when I got skinny, I never got muscular.  There was a time, right before I went to Bermuda to visit my then-boyfriend on vacation, when I actually had abs for the first time since I was 12.  That was also because I was on the Special K diet and doing a ridiculous amount of crunches every night before binge drinking.

In my later college years, I really got into running.  Instead of on the treadmill, which I avoid at all costs, I started running outside.  Because I am the very definition of a geek and I suffer from asthma, naturally, I was very proud when I went from only being able to run one mile to being able to run two whole miles!  I kept building my stamina until I could eventually run four miles without stopping.  At least, I don't think I stopped, I usually blacked out after the third mile and ended up naked in someone's flower bed before waking up and walking home.

My exercise habits have never really gotten to the point of consistency, which may be why my weight and tone has never been consistent.  When I was having sex, I was in great shape.  When I was a waiter, I was in even better shape, because I was having sex and running around like a madman sweating my ass off in a shitty restaurant.  And now, I sit in front of a computer all day and think of ways to keep little gay children entertained.

Maybe it's because I live in New York City, where the gay vanity is at astronomic levels.  Maybe it's because I look in the mirror and I'm tired of seeing the remnants of man boobies.  Maybe it's because I can't wear clothes that I know I could wear if I would only start getting my ass in shape.  Maybe it's because I'm bored... but I'm tired of looking like an average joe.

Which is why I've taken the first step in getting in shape by starting an Excel spreadsheet.  Yes, that's right.  My new job has made me fall in love with Excel.  I have spreadsheets for just about everything.  Including push-ups!

In addition to creating spreadsheets, I'm actually considering joining a gym and paying $30 a month to do so.  I've never joined a gym, so I'm not entirely sure how much of a waste of my money it will be.  I do know that my co-worker joined a gym and has met three different gay guys in less than two weeks, so it may at least pay off in that department.

More than anything, I just need to get my ass into shape.  I've already been eating much healthier than ever before for most of this year.  Of course, that didn't come because I wanted to get skinny, but because I read an article that scared the shit out of me that all the processed food I was eating was going to give me cancer.  I became fascinated with the Blue Zones and the macrobiotic diet and foods and supplements that would allow me to live forever.

If the food I'm eating is going to keep me around forever, I might as well look good when I'm 145 years old.  What I really mean is that I don't want my body to be something that my friends at the lunch table compliment because I'm fishing for it, and I don't want them to waste their creative energy on thinking of ways to look genuine. 

I want my body to be something I'm proud of.  I don't want to do it for anyone else, and I don't want to look toward anyone for inspiration.  I want to serve as my own inspiration and strength.

But really, though... I want gossip blogs to debate whether or not I have detachable robot arms.

I want paparazzi men to mistake me for Chris Pine while I'm out running.

I want to regain my flexibility.

Basically, I want to live up to totally realistic and healthy standards of beauty.  I don't think that's too much to ask for.  Isn't that what everyone else in America is doing?  If they can, why can't I?  Especially since I did it once before in my life, and I was only 12 years old.