What is a time of joy for many women was my darkest hour.
"I'm really proud of you. You did really great work. Keep it up."
No, Tracy, you are most definitely not proud of me. Because for the last hour or so I've just been watching. Instead of getting off the couch, moving the coffee table, dusting off my yoga mat and actually, you know, doing stuff, I've just been lurking. See, my plan today was to workout strictly by osmosis and strangely I feel quite accomplished.
Do you ever do that? Feel as if you did something when you really didn't? I do. A lot. Take, for instance, my penchant for answering emails -- in my head. I do it so often my good friends no longer expect replies. They'll just bring up whatever they wrote me about when we see in each other in real life, using the subject line of the email like a pin cushion.
"So? That 'dress from Zara'--?" someone might begin with an inflection that implies previous knowledge.
Then I'll jump in, "Yes, ma'am. Loved. Definitely buy it. It goes with the shoes."
I also regularly go clothes shopping -- trying on loads of outfits, calculating budgets in my head -- and come home without a bag in hand and feeling more than sated. Same goes for the grocery store -- where I plan meals well into next month and buy just enough for that night -- and the bookstore, in which I touch ALL THE BOOKS and bring home magazines. And still I've checked off the smarty pants portion of my day.
It's like scrolling through pictures of someone's kid on Facebook and feeling like you met them, which then, of course, leaves you off the hook in terms of actually having to be in contact with said minion.
So. Tracy. As a closeted consumer of Goop I'm all too familiar with Gwyneth Paltrow's body guru and bestie, Tracy Anderson, who is bendy in all kinds of crazy ways. I knew, despite Gwyn's proselytizing, if I bought into "The Method" it would eventually go the way of the Great Zumba Video Obsession of '10, which occupied my living room for approximately three weeks before being banished to a dark corner of media console right next to the copy of "Thor" I convinced Redbox I never rented.
But I bought it anyway because watching it would be edifying at best and entertaining white noise at worst. I mean I'm now familiar with the legs moves Madonna used to do. I possess the key (and DVD) to unlocking Madge thighs, man.
So, after an hour of physical fitness voyeurism I've got the same, "I could do this" capable good vibes that I get from locating the aisle in Whole Foods where the black rice is, just in case some day I decide to tackle it. I'll be prepped and ready to go. Because ain't knowing half the battle?