I Wanna Be Well

This is Leandro.

Leandro is the mastermind behind Beachbody’s Brazil Butt Lift workout system, and as such, I will be spending a portion of my day with him for the next several weeks.

I kind of hate him.

Before I go any further, I should probably explain that working out and eating healthy are not really things I do because I should, but because I have to. There are three things that are actively working against me in my quest to do top level adult life stuff, like being able to walk and make it through a trip to the grocery store without having to take a nap after. Those things are:

1. Having multiple sclerosis – compromised immune system! Woo!

2. Being five feet, two inches tall.

3. Having size five feet.

Being short with small feet means that weight can pack on pretty quickly if I’m not careful, and I am here to tell you that it is not a great feeling when you realize your midget feet are too tiny to support your tremendous bulk. As for the MS, I manage it fairly well, but carrying around ten extra pounds or so can often mean the difference between having a functioning body and…well, not. I am not the sort of girl who starts formulating an attack plan to achieve her “bikini body” every January. As far as I’m concerned, a bikini body is a body with a bikini on it. I’m pretty sure my cat would have an excellent bikini body.

 

So why Brazil Butt Lift? Well, that’s two fold. I figure that as long as I have to do this, I might as well try to look as much like Debbie Harry circa 1978 as possible.

Photo By Roberta Bayley, Punk Magazine, November 1978. Now with bonus Joey Ramone!

I feel this is imminently doable. Debbie and I are the same height, have thighs that tend more towards “Olympic Rugby Player” than “Heroin Addicted Pete Doherty Groupie,” and I’m the same age she is in this photo. I realize that “I want to look like Debbie Harry” is a terrible reason to want to work out, but I figure that the reason that I HAVE to work out is also pretty terrible, and at least this way I get to control the terrible. I am never going to be the girl who’s all “I’m going to run a marathon and a tough mudder and also start my own Crossfit gym!” This is in part because my health will most likely not allow that, and in part because I simply don’t want to. Exactly none of that appeals to me.

So that’s the first reason I’m on the Brazil Butt Lift plan. The second reason is because I like to check things off on lists, and having a prescribed plan that I can knock out over time makes me feel like I’m a real adult human and not a surly procrastinating teen. I mean, probably the closest I come to a zen state is doing some laps in the pool and spending some quality time with my specially curated playlist in the steam room after, but that is mostly because I am a borderline sociopath who likes to create elaborate revenge fantasies in my head when I relax. In general, though, I am all about endeavors that have a definite beginning, middle, and end.

I just wrapped up a stint of Jillian Michaels’ Thirty Day Shred, which also satisfies this vaguely obsessive compulsion of mine. I quite like the Shred. It’s quick and dirty, and you know what you’re getting with Jillian Michaels. Her entire demeanor screams, “Hi! I’m Jillian Michaels and I am here to fuck up your day!” Which, cool, I can get behind that. No one’s pretending that any of this shit is fun, so I can crank up some MC5 on ye old gym playlist and kick out the jams, motherfucker.

Leandro takes a different approach.

Leandro seems like a lovely, kind individual. I’m sure he is an absolute pleasure to be around. However, I have to deal with Leandro – cheerful, energetic, “This is so much fun! We are on a beach in Brazil!” Leandro –  at 7:30 in the morning. At 7:30 in the morning, I am actively pissed off about being awake. I am even more pissed off about having to move around. This is because my internal body clock, is, and always has been, set to showgirl hours.

So, to recap, this is Leandro at 7:30 in the morning:

This is me at 7:30 in the morning:

Photo by Bob Leafe, 1978

 

Also keep in mind that Leandro is backed by a squadron of smiley fitness models with shiny hair who look absolutely fucking enthralled to be doing squats for a million years or until their thighs explode, whichever comes first. I do my best to drown out the peppy Latin music and the Brazilian accented exhortations to “Move your body! Feel the sexy!” with Johnny Thunders and the Sex Pistols, but I still really want to kill and eat the whole herd of Brazil Butt Lifters. Which would probably negate the workout.

When it’s done though, I’m always glad I did it. Not only did I accomplish a grown up adult task, but it also means I get to eat without doing a lot of frenzied math. I am terrible at math. Doing even simple math gives me low level anxiety attacks, so calorie counting of any kind would probably result in an ulcer, eventually. Days when I skip my workout tend to result in a lot of time spent having an incredibly stupid internal dialogue with myself, which sounds somewhat like this:

So, basically, I guess the moral of today’s story is: don’t kill and eat Leandro and company, because otherwise you’ll be unhealthy and go to some sort of weird prison where the Ramones’ road manager will force feed you alfalfa sprouts and Johnny Ramone flings slices of pizza at you.