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.
I exercise for the mental, stree-relieving benefits that cardio provides and I’ve found it one of the most effective ways of dealing with anxiety – something I will write about more one day because I’ve come to realise how very common it is.
So. Back to Saturday morning, me in front of the TV in the lounge room, doing dance cardio with Tracy who is like a little pocket rocket Barbie ninja bouncing power house.
Fortunately, my husband and teenager were out and my two smaller kids were watching TV elsewhere, utterly disinterested by the sight of Mummy galumphing around the lounge room while trying desperately to follow Tracy’s confoundingly changing moves.
That’s the point apparently – to keep mixing it up and not letting your body get used to any one type of movement. No chance of that. At one point, my mother-in-law arrived to pick up my daughter and tried gamely to have a conversation with me as I huffed, puffed, bounced and jumped.
Oh, and have I mentioned my pelvic floor? Do me a favour, do some squeezes as you continue to read this post. YOU CAN NEVER DO ENOUGH PELVIC FLOOR EXERCISES.
Jumping and pelvic floors are not friends.
I got through the video twice – it kept stopping after 20 minutes because it was so scratched so I had to start again – and then I did these two videos, one from last weeks GOOP newsletter and the other I found on youtube.