The Subject: 24 year old law student in New York City. Female. Fitness enthusiast. Desperately impoverished, but equally resourceful (we hope). The More...
New York's a big city, right? With lots and lots of gyms. And lots and lots of people. Right, well, leave it to BoS to inadvertently gymhop (quite unawares) to the favorite workout spot of a guy she had said her goodbyes to not even a week prior. Well done, BoS....
So here's how it happened: I was gonna do a boxing class with my fave fitness blogger, Mizzfit, but when that fell through I hastily decided to swing by the YMCA, one of the gyms I hadn't yet checked out. I show up at 6:30 P.M. and jump right into a "Fitness for Athletes" class, led by a former football player known as "Sexy Rob."
Leandro Carvalho's Brazil Butt Lift DVD begins with the following words...
"The Butt... They Come in All Shapes and Sizes.... but what if you could have the perfect butt you've always dreamed about?....My Booty is my best feature. My booty is Round, Hard, Firm... I get Whistles and Cat-calls... "
Glamour magazine has dubbed Carvalho the "butt master." Alessandra Ambrosio raves about him. He's got a "booty blueprint guide" with a "pencil test" to help you determine if your ass is too big.
Look, I'm really not sure how I feel about all that, but my pseudonym is "BunsofSteal," so does that make me the pot or the kettle? For my first class back at Equinox Fitness, my favorite recent conquest, I decided I had to investigate.
It's all tied up! Equinox: 1. Buns of Steal 1.
Loyal B.O.S. readers will recall that I was once kicked out of Equinox when the authorities caught me shamelessly sampling a Columbus Circle location after I had already used a guest pass at 96th street. That was back when the media was all over me, and, needless to say, the haters ate it up. This didn't bother so much, as I basked in all the additional blog traffic. But I did think my days at Equinox were over. That was, until my friend R. showed up....
I am bouncing wildly through Times Square on what can only be described as moon boots strapped to pogo sticks. Several feet in front of me is Mario, an incredibly fit, mohawked 28 year old who serves as America's most public face for the Kangoo movement. The tourists are going gangbusters, taking our photos as we bounce, flash mob style, between yellow cabs and city busses, sprinting across the street on our 6 inch extensions, dodging pedestrians and onlookers. The shouts followed us as we bounced along:
"That's sooo f'ing cool!"
"Where do you buy them?"
"Can you do tricks?!"
So how did I get there?
Today's free workout, Bikram Yoga Harlem courtesy of a work-study arrangement (hooray for barter). So, this was my glorious post-rib return to Bikram Yoga Harlem, my absolute favorite yoga studio in New York! It was my first time back at yoga since my vain attempt two weeks ago, after the fall but before I knew the extent of the injury. On that visit, I got through exactly 6 postures before I began taking breaks to nurse my shoulder and rib. After 15 postures or so I just gave up and sat on my mat, staring helplessly at my sad mangled self.
Fast forward to today, and man, I was gonna do it! And I mostly did, until I got an eyeful of balls. Yes, I said it. BALLS.
Is blogging (and the reading of blogs) about dieting and exercise actually bad for you? That's the question posed by Jezebel and Marie Claire recently. In their article, MC profiled six well known fitness bloggers and argued that by chronicling, in painstaking detail (often with photographic evidence of everything they eat and how many calories they burn exercising, and often with public, self-critical rants whenever they "mess up") these bloggers are not only indulging their own diet/exercise obsessions, but also inspiring hundreds or thousands of readers to adopt the same borderline-disordered attitude. As a fitness blogger myself, as you might imagine, this hits close to home...
So... the fall was worse than I thought, because I went to the doctor today (finally) and it turns out I have a hairline fracture in one of my ribs. It'll take 6-8 weeks to heal. AWESOME! So, that's the bad news. The good news (yes there's good news) is that apparently there's not really anything I can do, short of clubbing myself in the chest with a baseball bat, that will make the injury any worse. That means I can "proceed at my own risk" as far as any physical activity is concerned. Basically, if the pain is tolerable, I can go ahead and exercise (this according to the doc).
So, that leaves me with the question: What can I do?
This week's free workout: Crunch, 83rd street, courtesy of 2 week free pass. So scratch all that. Instead of gymhopping my way through a Sunday cardio class, I spent my morning lying on the sidewalk near Morningside Park, gingerly checking my body parts to make sure they were all still there.
There I was, happily jogging down the steep hill between 116th and 110th street, alongside the park, proud of myself for actually getting out of bed on a Sunday and starting a productive day. iPod blasting Juanes. Sun shining. Suddenly I'm flying, and I see the white of my untied shoelace before I face plant on the sidewalk. It was crazy I actually heard a crack when my right temple hit the concrete. Then I hear someone behind me, "Oooh shit! That was SOOO bad."
Today's free workout: Crunch, 83rd street, courtesy of the Social Workout/Crunch Get Schooled Challenge. I've been in NYC for a week, but finally, today, I felt as if I had returned. To be honest, my workouts up to this point had been sub-par. I was sluggish, I was lazy, and it showed in both the quality of my gymhops and in my energy levels. But not today. No, today I started Social Workout's Crunch Get Schooled Challenge, which dares reader/exercisers to work out 20 times, do 8 Crunch classes, and log 20 healthy meals, all in the next 28 days.
Today's free workout: Quidditch team tryouts, Riverside Park. "Are you here for Quidditch?" Now, this was a phrase I never thought I'd hear. But here I was, in Riverside Park, answering, "Yes, in fact I am." With those words, I descended into the fascinating and bizarre land of Quidditch, that magical game that until recently lived only on the pages of Harry Potter, though really we all knew it was a matter of a time before it sprung onto intramural sports fields across the world.
Ok, let me back up.
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