Gym Confessions: Week 1 & 2

 

            Disclaimer: For easy reference, please check my early post about my life-changing decision to look 80 by the time I’m 40. Wait. To look 40 by the time I’m 80.

 

            Thanks to the outpouring support of you, my lovelies, and a full-length mirror in my closet, I bit the bullet (and it tasted yucky! I must stop eating everything I see. Damn it.) and started to work with a personal trainer! She’s super sweet and laughs at my jokes – and for that alone, she should get a raise!

            I gotta say, I feel good about it. For four years I paid the gym membership and never really worked out on a consistent basis. But, see, just the fact I paid made me feel like one step closer. Kinda like, I was paying, so if I DID want to go, you know, I could. I always felt one step ahead of the people who didn’t even have the membership. I know, I’m an illogical bullshitter. But with a personal trainer, there’s no denial.

            In my first week, we did a combo of stretches and cardio. I never really do stretches on my own, because in my gym the stretching area is located next to the stairs and in front of a gazillion machines and I feel really exposed. Isn’t that weird? I don’t really care what people think in general, but I HATE to stretch and do all of those things. I get it that no one is looking, but still. I gotta say, though, that they did make a difference. I felt lighter and more prepared for you know, all the suffering that Ellie (my name for the elliptical machine) had for me.

            Week two was ALL about Ellie and her friends. There she stood, waiting for me, all polished, and there wasn’t a drop of sweat on her. But, folks, I thrived. At every step, I closed my eyes and imagined Ryan Gosling waiting for me on the other side. At one point, my trainer asked me to pay attention because I almost slipped off. Whew.

            Well, bear with me. Here I am working out at last, surrounded by skinny folks only. There is the occasional meatier gym member, but whenever I’m coming, she’s leaving and vice versa. I think that’s what the Universe intends, just so we have an equilibrium of fat mass and cholesterol levels. So yeah, I need some fantasies.

          Skinny folks, I gotta say – I have a lot of respect for you. No, really. If I ever turned into one of you, I would totally be the nasty one who says she never works out and eats everything and just has a good metabolism – even if I worked my ass off to be skinny. Yes, I know. I’m petty and evil. The world is probably a better place if I continue to rock as a curvy writer instead.

            On that note, I’ll do some stretches (now that no one is looking) and start writing.

           Until later,

           Carmen :)

 

           

Pantser or Plotter: Do We Have to Choose?

 

 

            This week, the meeting of the Austin chapter of the Romance Writers of America had a talented guest speaker: Author Kathleen Baldwin. Her presentation, “The Secret Life of Pantsers,” rocked.

            Ms. Baldwin talked about the myths involving pantsers and plotters. For instance, it’s natural to think a character-driven author is a pantser and a plot-driven author is a plotter. However, according to what she told us, a pantser can be plot-driven, just as a plotter can be character-driven. The pantser is the brave adventurer and the plotter, the brilliant planner. The main difference is that the pantser will take failure over predictability, always needing a challenge and not feeling compelled to tell a story he or she already knows intimately. Meanwhile, a plotter— the master of his or her world, and a planner—values success over risky adventures. Ms. Baldwin also gave us examples on how the tendencies to become a pantser or a plotter are deeply seated in our brains.

            Our speaker administered a quiz to help each one of us find out if we are a plotter or a pantser. My result was that I present characteristics from both sides, although I’m leaning more toward pantser. I think it’s true. I can’t go completely pantser on a story, and my fingers itch to touch the keyboard way before I figure everything out.

            I guess I’m in the middle. I let the characters speak to me, yes, but I like to have the main turning points and black moment roughly sketched before I start writing. I love how I’m slowly but finally learning my own writing process. I usually start with an idea, then play with it for a couple of weeks (without taking notes). Then I write it down, and start writing my novel. I usually send my first chapter to my CP, who will tell me honestly if it’s a horrible idea or not. Then, if she doesn’t think it’s a horrendous idea, I pursue it and write a dirty draft until the seventh or eighth chapter. Then I go back and start polishing. Then I pick up on the rest of the manuscript. And edit. Again. And again. Phew. I’m sure there are easier ways out there, but I have to get that far to get to know my characters better. And usually by chapter seven I’m itching to go back and start editing (and make changes based on the other things that happened). I guess the pantser spends more time editing, and the plotter plotting?

            Anyway. Very interesting stuff.

            How about you? Are you a pantser, a plotter or a combination of the two? What is your process of writing?

In Which I’m 63 Years Old (and Four Months)

 

 

I have always thought of myself as an old soul. I’ve always enjoyed vintage French music, going out at night and getting drunk was never my thing, and yes, I had arthritis at twenty-seven.

Well, last week I did a fit point assessment test at my gym. Basically, based on a few tests, they tell you how old your body REALLY is. The suspense nearly killed me. 50? 80? I settled for 60. Well, friends, the verdict is out: my body is 63 years and 4 months old. Yes.

I’m 30, and my body is going all Benjamin Button on me!

Anyway, now I have the backup I’ve always needed. It turns out that I’m an old soul AND an old body. So the question is whether I should just enjoy my twilight years or go against nature and work out to try to shed some years.

The overly Botoxed personal trainer didn’t quite appreciate my humor when I asked her if I could get a senior citizen discount for the sessions. But, c’mon, take it from someone who’s clearly a prodigy at aging —I’ve always wanted to stay ahead of the game, so at least bone-structure wise I’m DECADES ahead of any of my friends. I’m probably even ahead of my mom, because she’s always exercised. Boo!

Although I love the practicality of a sedentary life, I have thought long and hard and have decided to take some personal trainer sessions, so I’d at least LEARN how to use machines to strength my muscles and keep my joints from deteriorating. Maybe by the time I’m 40, I can resemble a well-aged 80 year old. No, folks, my expectations aren’t high.

Plus, on the upside (yes, I always look for one), I’m sure the sessions will give me enough material to blog for the next few months. LOL. No, really! J

Anyway, that’s all! Off to the Elliptical now (I’ll be calling her Ellie in a couple of weeks. We’ll be good friends—until Ellie starts to bore the hell out of me).

Until later,

Carmen :P