A ghost of workouts past comes back to haunt

I found my first-ever workout mix CD. It's from 2001, the summer after my senior year of high school. This CD was the soundtrack to my first sustained attempt at jogging and my first honest shot at being marginally healthy. If I recall correctly, that campaign lasted for about 3 months, but I lost some weight because of it and my plainly titled "Workout" CD was largely responsible. I see now that, whether consciously or not, I was shrewd in engineering this playlist. Because look at what I put in the top slot:

This song is wildly inappropriate and all kinds of offensive. It's about beating the women (or men, but mostly women) in your life when they're pissing you off. Babymama wiling? Bom ba-ba bom bom Rocky Balboa. That's...abhorrent. Awful. I've got a pretty high threshold for tolerating misogynist rap bombast bullshit, because it's pop art not real life and blah blah blah. But after listening to this song enough times, I decided -- out loud, to myself, while driving to the grocery store -- that I simply couldn't call myself a feminist or even a decent human being while regularly enjoying an ode to domestic violence. And yet...

It works as a workout song. Ugly truth.

Because of my so-serious reversal on "Rocky" tolerance, I put that workout CD away and forgot about it for pretty much a decade, until I unearthed it in an old CD case last week. But listening to it again, I realize that "Rocky" functioned as the heavy against my wimpy, fledgling sense of fitness discipline at that time. Putting it first on the mix was like staffing my brain with an unhinged drill sergeant for the first 5 minutes of my run, there to beat down any attacks to my resolve. During that first attempt at jogging (and the second, and kinda the third), there was always a not-insignificant chance that I'd crap out before getting even a quarter mile under my belt and walk home like a chump. 

"Rocky" pounded into my head a ruthlessly simple message: if a bitch gets outta line, show it Rocky Balboa. I say "it" instead of the verbatim "her" because a) it distances me from the song, which even now I'm self-conscious about praising*, and b) ultimately, to me, the only thing getting beat in that song is a whiny attitude about going for a damn run. That's m'story and I'm sticking to it. 

And! Track #2 is your reward for taking Juvie's abuse and getting through those first five "I DON'T WANNAAAAA" minutes of a run:

How do you solve a problem like Dolphina?

VIDEO: "Goddess Workout: Introduction to Bellydance" (GoddessLife, 1998)
STYLE: Belly dance
INTENSITY: Low
STRUCTURE: Warm-up, 8 min.; heads, hands and arms, 5 min.; hips, 7 min.; shoulders and chest, 6 min.; hip circles, 5 min.; undulations and snakes, 4 min.; shimmies, 3 min.; routine, 4 min.; cool-down, 3 min.
GIST: A hot mess of bad camera work, mediocre instruction, titty fixation and half-baked Eastern religion -- but with killer outfits and a presenter who means well.

You know what Southern women would say about Dolphina? They'd say, "Bless her heart," and it'd be just as simultaneously backhanded and sympathetic as it sounds.

You see, Dolphina -- can you guess what her spirit animal* is?? -- wants to help you unleash your goddess within; but she and the creepers behind this video are too enraptured with the goddess on screen to really help the budding belly dancer at home. Whether intentional or not, it's all about her -- her truly marvelous body, her devilish grins, her fantastic costumes, her affectations of worldly mystique and sexual power, her exotic sets. Choreography, instruction and viewer comprehension come second -- not always, but far too often.

Add this to the ever-expanding Laws of Fitness Presenters (and life?): It's hard to be too beautiful or too fit, but it's easy to seem too into yourself. Really, the issue comes down to what makes it on camera. In your own mind, you can think the tides move with the slope of your torso, but you can't let that show in your work. That's just common sense. You're there to instruct, inspire and entertain all the poor suffering blobs at home. Not eyefuck yourself through the camera.

And sweet Jesus, does Dolphina love eyefuckin'. Observe:

So, I got this in the mail today...

It is real, and it is called "Body Flex." I bought this video and its follow-up, "Body Flex II," because a) they cost a total of $8 on Amazon, and b) there seem to be people living in real-life modern times who swear by this series. Consider this review (from the Amazon link above):

You see results almost every week, guaranteed. (In 1998 I lost an inch or more off my upper abs, lowers abs, waist and hips every week. 4+ inches total every week is an awesome result. I went from a 29 inch waist to a 24 inch waist in just 4 weeks.) 

4+ inches every week doesn't seem like "an awesome result" -- it seems frighteningly unhealthy. What about this review:

After 2 pregnancies I got it out and gave it an honest try. I did it 2x per day for 12 weeks and lost a total of 45 inches. I went from a size 24 to a size 16. Unfortunatly [sic] I got pregnant again and had to stop. I gained almost 80 pounds during the last pregnancy, but only went back up to a size 20. I have started again, and I am on my second week and have lost 8 1/2 inches. I have tried everything else, including going to the gym for 2 hours a day, and this has been the only thing that has worked for me. 

There are rules associated with the routine -- has to be done first thing in the morning on an empty stomach -- that may have more to do with its efficacy than the exercises themselves. After all, any amount of mild exercise before breaking the fast will jump-start your metabolism and help you burn more calories throughout the day. But is this backcombed madwoman really on to something? I suppose I'll have to wake up to her crazy ass and grimace into the mirror every day for a while to find out. 

The things I do for you...

Wii got sass

When it comes to Amusements of Tomorrow, Today, I'm kind of an old fuddy-duddy. Case in point, I just last night did a Wii. (That's what you do, right? You "do a Wii"?) My friend brought over her console along with "Just Dance," and for the first time since...ever?...I enjoyed a video game made in the 21st century. (Angry Birds doesn't count.) It juiced my raspberries.

At the risk of sounding horribly behind-the-times and stating the obvious, here's the gist of "Just Dance": There are bunch of routines to real songs (mostly original tracks, with some quality covers), and each is led by a CGI dancer that seems to have been motion-captured from a real dancer. The CGI dancers wear amusing costumes appropriate to the songs. It's a surprisingly decent workout, as long as you don't take (long) breaks. The menu ranks each dance routine by difficulty and intensity, so it's possible to engineer an hour-long sweat-fest simply by choosing the harder selections -- such as this aerobics-inspired number:

Or this '90s jam:

Fun, right? 

Minnie Mouse goes to Rio

VIDEO: "Dance and Be Fit: Carnaval," (Acacia, 2010)

STYLE: Dance aerobics

INTENSITY: Overall, moderate to somewhat heavy, but can be scaled up or down by the viewer

STRUCTURE: Warm-up, 5 minutes; three cardio segments, 12 minutes each; cool-down, 5 minutes

GIST: Very nearly derailed by awful cuing, but too much fun and too good a cardio workout to not try

So, as promised, I'm gearing up for Mardi Gras by checking out Carnival-themed workouts, and because it's available streaming on Hulu (score!), I started with this offering from the "Dance and Be Fit" series:

If it looks kinda corny, well, it is! Corny-cool. Presenter Kimberly Miguel Mullen is -- sorry, Kimberlys of the world -- very much a Kimberly. She's got an ever-present cheerleader smile and a high-pitched peppy voice that prompted my dad, who was within earshot as I did this video at my parents' house, to ask, "Are you working out with Minnie Mouse?"

But Kimberly brought the goods. I got loose. I laughed frequently. I got sweaty and pumped up, which inspired me to keep pushing and do everything full-out for maximum effect. And, with 36 minutes of continuous cardio (minus the short commercial breaks on the Hulu version), it was good enough for a Saturday's work. Silly + sweaty works for me, especially with moves like these:

Isolated hip circles and pelvic pops with arms outstretched. Great, effective warm-up.  

Running and blasting into a side-kick. "EXPLOOOODE!" Kimberly says. 

I felt these explosions in my butt the next morning.

Baby she will she be your motivation

So, Kelly Rowlands's ab workout looks serious. Like, ow ow ow omg motherf*****CHiagerrgh;[U832 WHEN WILL IT END serious. 

Which is great! It's called "Sexy Abs with Kelly Rowland," part of a "Hollywood Trainer" series that I'm just now realizing exists, and it seems like an Abs of Steel for the Ciara era. (Btw, could Ciara please make a workout video? Like, why has't she already?)

The video was released this past December, and judging from the reviews, it's kicking ass and taking names: 30 minutes, short warm-up and cool-down but otherwise all ab-sculpting agony. And eventually, with practice, ecstasy? 

In a perfect world I'd buy this immediately, add it 3x a week to my Carnival body prep master plan and emerge Mardi Gras Day like some ripped, unhinged lovechild of the Cheshire Cat and an Amazon. In real life...let's shoot for once a week and see what happens?

Here's some behind-the-scenes ish:

In preparation for Bloaty Gras

It's Carnival time! 

In most of the U.S., that means...funnel cake? Tilt-o-whirl? That HBO show?

In New Orleans, it means...

Carnival is the season of Mardi Gras, lasting from Twelfth Night/Epiphany/Three Kings' Day/January 6 until Fat Tuesday, (which is the day before Ash Wednesday, which is the kickoff to Lent, which is when you swear off vices 'til Easter, which is why you have to binge on them ahead of time -- behold, Mardi Gras in its entirety, expertly explained in a parenthetical run-on!). Carnival means king cake (above) and protracted mirth (above above) and drinking a lot, possibly out of someone's bag o' wine teats (above above above). It means Popeyes and so much dancing and naps in random people's houses and glitter all over your house. It means bloating and wearing revealing clothing anyway. 

In Brazil, it means YOU BETTA WORRRK, as this New York Times article illustrates. Because marathon samba dancing in teeny weeny outfits is the order of the day, some folks go through rigorous boot camp-style training in the weeks and months leading up to the five big days of Carnival (Friday through Fat Tuesday).