"how sweet it is to be loved by you." -- marvin gaye
Oh Dear Mom,
hello! this week brings good tidings. first, this letter. second, i've been evicted from sickland! newly sprung from the cauldron of malaise, i've decided to toast my good health with some exercise. improbably, this led my thoughts to you.
i'll start here: remember your collection of exercise machines? the Air Walker, Pilates machine and of course, the AirTramp, all made equally deep impressions on me and the carpet. there was no QVC contraption you were immune to. the drive was mighty, even if the muscles were weak: "gina! can you help me move this ever-loving thing?!"
you spent a lot of time thinking about exercise, much more than actually exercising. i now realize you were practicing an advanced form of ergonomics.... cleverly disguised as relaxation! and the machines, i daresay, are enjoying excellent second lives as household furniture. the AirTramp is a pretty convenient laundry basket... except when the dog breaks into a manic fit, runs over it and all the clothes scatter like a demented flock of Spring Rain scented birds.
what i'm saying is, your 'fitness as apathy' ruse really made its mark. all children hate what their parents love; you used this to best effect. what don't i owe to your influence? this, here, is all you:
despite all that rigorous training on the fallen bodies of your antiquated exercise equipment, there is one skill that still eludes me: swimming. this is because your idea of sick waves is Jones Beach. i'm sure you feel pretty guilty about it, but rest easy. i've decided to take swimming lessons, under the careful tutelage of a real live Swiss, at the Geneva public pool.
my first lesson is in a few days. can't wait to tell you all about it. until then, rest assured that i am getting enough exercise from Wii Fit... though it seems a little hollow without an intricate pulley system and a mom cheering me on from the couch.
write me your thoughts. i 'promise' not to post them.
love always,
gina xx
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