I hate working out.
I understand that in order to maintain some semblance of health, I need to regularly raise my heart rate and maybe lift something heavier than a laptop a few times a week. But the idea of having to go to a big warehouse-type room where other people are sweating and grunting makes my skin crawl. I'd much rather get exercise in the process of having fun, like flying a kite at the beach or hiking up some remote hillside with a picnic basket. But who ever actually has the time to buy a kite, drive to the beach, find a parking space... The only thing I like about working out is the shower when it's all over. I like knowing that the hot water at the gym will never, ever run out and I can take my sweet time conditioning my hair. I don't mind having to wear rubber thongs to avoid an unauthorized toe fungus -- it's nice to just stand there for 20 minutes and have the water pound onto that tense spot on my back that never quite relaxes completely.
My husband has been on me lately to go do things during the day that I never had time to do while I was working... like go to the gym. I admit it -- I'm generally a sit-at-the-desk kind of person. I was never the athletic type, although I was blessed with a nervous metabolism when I was younger that allowed me to sit for long periods of time and still never gain weight. It has since then slowed considerably, and I have, to my horror, began developing the fat deposits that my grandmother displayed. And now I'm having a heck of a time dealing with the upper arm flab-wings and back-fat, not to mention the little "stress-belly" of lard that has attached itself to my midsection and taunts me when I try to zip my jeans. And since my stress level shows no indication of abating any time soon, I guess I have to do something to burn it off. But I still hate it.
While torturing myself on the treadmill today, I was reading a magazine that appears to be a Cosmo for the pre-and peri-menopause set. I've been a subscriber to Cosmo for over a decade, but I've noticed that the "how-to-bag-a-boyfriend" articles and clothing layouts just don't seem to be all that interesting anymore. So on a whim, I picked up a copy of this new mag. While the models still have that skinny, coffee-and-cigarette-diet physique, they at least have some character lines on their faces and even sport an occasional patch of natural grey hair.
What really got my attention, though, was the amazing number of articles and columns about women over the age of 40 that started new-found careers as writers and were gaining successes typing out smart-aleck anecdotes and stories about their marriages and selling them to magazines just like the one I was reading. Heck, I have stories. I'm a smart-aleck. And since I'm writing anyway, I'm well-educated, and I have tons of time on my hands, why couldn't I do that? I mean, really, I already am, I'm just not getting paid for it and I'm posting this stuff all over the Internet for you lovely people to read for free.
Not that I'm planning on ending my Blog files... This is a therapeutic activity for me, and most of this stuff isn't really ready for prime magazine publications. It's just me spouting off my random thoughts and daily irritations as an attempt to get them out so I can sleep at night.
But I figure if I can be reasonably coherent while writing a silly journal, how hard can it be to get a subject suggestion from some editor in New York, take a week or two to come up with something really good, email it back and then wait for the check? I always excelled in Creative Writing when I was in school, and I even dabbled at journalism when I was in college. I wrote for an early Web-zine a few years back; they liked my columns about the trials and tribulations of a cancer patient trying to maintain a normal life and career while trying not to throw up on the commute to work. Ok, it didn't pay or anything, but apparently there were people out there who were interested in what I had to say.
So now I have a new possible direction. I won't give up the search for a job in the entertainment business. It's what I've done for the past fifteen years, and I like it too much to just switch careers. But if I might be able to make a supplemental income and get some of my lost confidence back as a part-time columnist, then I'm all for that.
Suggestions and advice are welcome. Offers from editors are even more welcome.
