fake skinny
I’ve begun to feel restricted by my limited activity level. I say limited; I mean non-existent. I’m also not interested in joining a gym. Any gym. Ever. I took ballet as a kid and like how a body sculpted by ballet looks. Plus, ballet is not a fad or a cult. So I found a studio, just a few blocks from work, with age-appropriate classes offered at 7pm, twice a week. I’m taking my first class on Tuesday. Do I tell them that I’m an anemic smoker and an extended set of grand battement barre exercises may make me puke and pass out? Or do I perpetuate the fake skinny myth and pretend I’m OK until I’m unconscious, face-down and leotard-up in a puddle of my own vomit? Oh, what the hell. I’ve been working on being more spontaneous. I’m just gonna play it by ear.
julie warshaw 