Dear readers--I can call you that, right? All seven of you (which includes the blood relatives). It took me most of April to get through Simone’s first step: What do I want to get out of my goal? Roll Patricia Heaton, slow-mo strutting down the street with her peeps, flipping up the collar of her stylish leather jacket like a super model in the movie Mom’s Night Out. Now I plan to live at least a few days with Step 2: Understand what I want and where I am and notice the difference. Which means, I need to go to Mars.
Remember Mars? That planet far, far away? A planet where ten-pound-lighter-me exercises and eats right? Well, if as Simone instructs, I want to get “completely, impeccably, bullshit-free clear,” I will need to visit that far-off Red Planet. See how the other half lives. Though, actually, probably more than half of us don't eat right or exercise or at least I see a lot of PSA stuff on television and I am an avid watcher of competitive weight loss shows. So, correction. I want to see how maybe, probably, the other 20 percent live. This is just off the top of my head, although I am tempted to give it a goog. Maybe later. I have a planet to visit.
Day One. I woke up early. I figured it was early enough that I could turn on the television and watch a DVRed show while I ate breakfast. Just the one. Like a potato chip. I made myself an expresso and toasted half a whole-wheat English muffin and scrambled three egg whites. I took my breakfast into the den to eat while watching Bethany Frankel tear open a new one for our poor unsuspecting “Holla!” queen, Heather Thomson. Unfortunately, my 85 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback male, Denzel, shifted on the couch and my coffee and fluffy, super healthy egg white scramble landed on my lap. Lesson learned.
Second breakfast attempt, this one at the kitchen counter, was an English muffin, an egg, sunny side up (all out of the egg whites) and another expresso. I wrote a blog post, ran errands, and worked out at the gym.
It was now 10:30 am.
I had accomplished more than I usually did in two day. And it wasn’t even lunch time.
You would think I'd be all fired up now. Look at me! So productive! So capable! Look at all the crap I got done! Before lunch!
But I actually felt strangely flummoxed. Like someone had let the air out of the balloon and I was flat on the floor staring longingly at my television, which was now off (only the one chip, dammit!)
Here it was, late morning, and I had all these hours stretching endlessly ahead...
H’oh boy.
That’s when I decided I couldn’t create a Mars for myself and then come crashing down for a landing in a world I had no feel for or sense of because, let’s be honest, my life had arced from teenager with body issues to neurotic attorney to writer living off the crack highs and lows of deadlines, reviews, and bestseller lists to chardonnay wheeling empty nester. I didn’t even take vitamins, just the occasional Xanax. And if I haven’t mentioned it before, my four food groups are caffeine, alcohol, fried foods and salsa.
But I’m a writer, you say. I’m supposed to be able to produce out of thin air worlds inhabited by characters and drama so real they can make you laugh and cry. Only, this turned out to be more of a tactile journey. It required the kind of real-life experience I could not recreate on my own. It was like Disneyland--you think you know what it’s about and then you go on Indiana Jones and it’s like whoa! Who knew!
So yeah. I needed to find a "real" Mars to visit. Like Disneyland.
Enter the Skinny Bitch and the Shadow.
I knew a couple of Skinny Bitches well enough to beg, borrow, and steal their lives for a day or two. I, of course, would be the Shadow, watching their every move, taking notes.
Which I did. Which lead me to this realization: It ain’t easy being a Skinny Bitch, people. And that’s no bullshit.
H’oh boy.
This is my year of change. I hope you join me.
Please feel free to comment below.
Remember Mars? That planet far, far away? A planet where ten-pound-lighter-me exercises and eats right? Well, if as Simone instructs, I want to get “completely, impeccably, bullshit-free clear,” I will need to visit that far-off Red Planet. See how the other half lives. Though, actually, probably more than half of us don't eat right or exercise or at least I see a lot of PSA stuff on television and I am an avid watcher of competitive weight loss shows. So, correction. I want to see how maybe, probably, the other 20 percent live. This is just off the top of my head, although I am tempted to give it a goog. Maybe later. I have a planet to visit.
Day One. I woke up early. I figured it was early enough that I could turn on the television and watch a DVRed show while I ate breakfast. Just the one. Like a potato chip. I made myself an expresso and toasted half a whole-wheat English muffin and scrambled three egg whites. I took my breakfast into the den to eat while watching Bethany Frankel tear open a new one for our poor unsuspecting “Holla!” queen, Heather Thomson. Unfortunately, my 85 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback male, Denzel, shifted on the couch and my coffee and fluffy, super healthy egg white scramble landed on my lap. Lesson learned.
Second breakfast attempt, this one at the kitchen counter, was an English muffin, an egg, sunny side up (all out of the egg whites) and another expresso. I wrote a blog post, ran errands, and worked out at the gym.
It was now 10:30 am.
I had accomplished more than I usually did in two day. And it wasn’t even lunch time.
You would think I'd be all fired up now. Look at me! So productive! So capable! Look at all the crap I got done! Before lunch!
But I actually felt strangely flummoxed. Like someone had let the air out of the balloon and I was flat on the floor staring longingly at my television, which was now off (only the one chip, dammit!)
Here it was, late morning, and I had all these hours stretching endlessly ahead...
H’oh boy.
That’s when I decided I couldn’t create a Mars for myself and then come crashing down for a landing in a world I had no feel for or sense of because, let’s be honest, my life had arced from teenager with body issues to neurotic attorney to writer living off the crack highs and lows of deadlines, reviews, and bestseller lists to chardonnay wheeling empty nester. I didn’t even take vitamins, just the occasional Xanax. And if I haven’t mentioned it before, my four food groups are caffeine, alcohol, fried foods and salsa.
But I’m a writer, you say. I’m supposed to be able to produce out of thin air worlds inhabited by characters and drama so real they can make you laugh and cry. Only, this turned out to be more of a tactile journey. It required the kind of real-life experience I could not recreate on my own. It was like Disneyland--you think you know what it’s about and then you go on Indiana Jones and it’s like whoa! Who knew!
So yeah. I needed to find a "real" Mars to visit. Like Disneyland.
Enter the Skinny Bitch and the Shadow.
I knew a couple of Skinny Bitches well enough to beg, borrow, and steal their lives for a day or two. I, of course, would be the Shadow, watching their every move, taking notes.
Which I did. Which lead me to this realization: It ain’t easy being a Skinny Bitch, people. And that’s no bullshit.
H’oh boy.
This is my year of change. I hope you join me.
Please feel free to comment below.
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