This review was first published in Cape Times on 23 October 2015. DIS EK, ANNA. Directed by Sara Blecher, with Charlene Brouwer, Morne Visser, Nicola Hanek...
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Gym... 'As in, Morrison?'
So, I woke up knowing that today is that historical day of the Gym Debut. Yesterday I went gym-clothes shopping. No one warned me that all gym clothing is apparently hideous. Anyway, after much searching [and buying non-gymmy styff along the way], I settled on plain black stirrup leggings which, if I absolutely hate gym, can be worn under normal circumstances too. They call this a 'sound investment', I think. That was about the most interesting part of yesterday, after which I came home to finish my assignment. And in the few hours I sat in front of my laptop, I received approximately three million phone calls. When did I become everyone's go-to gal?! Okay, I get that you might call me to find out how much cover charge is at whatever gig [even though I never pay cover and even though you have Facebook!]. But now people are calling me about all sorts of other problems for advice. Now, don't get me wrong, I love my friends dearly and would love to help. But asking ME for relationship advice?! The love of my life is GAY! Okay, so he was my standard six boyfriend and I very stupidly thought we would be together forever, but still. I have more failed relationships under my belt than John Mayer has one-night-stands. And money!? I have never managed to get by with my allowance until the end of any month. Ever. You could pay me double, in February [of a non-leap-year] and I still wouldn't make it to March. I budget for shoes before electricity. So, much as I am both flattered you would come to and desperate to help you, my best advice would be to do what Lize would NOT do. Anyway, so this gym debut. Everyone on Twitter kept telling me that it doesn't matter what I wear. That, my friends, does not compute. I'm not going to try exercise in Burberry tights and high heels, but I would like to look at least a little bit cool [in an effortless kinda way] while I get all sweaty. I mean, my odds of dying alone are way high [once again], and what if I actually do meet someone at the gym [heaven forbid]? If this were to happen, I would like very much for him to be struck by my effortless cool. Something along the lines of white leg warmers, black tights and an oversized Diesel boyfriend jersey, y'know? So, after searching furiously for the perfect, totally effortless-looking oufit, and then searching furiously for the actual gym, I took a dance class and did some work on the treadmill. I felt pretty good afterwards too. Not exhausted beyond walking ability, but kinda bouncy. Endorphins! It's not sex, but I think the gym and I might become good friends soon.