The Lululemon Plunge

I swore I would never do it. I would never walk into that pretty pink and blue storefront and buy ridiculously expensive, let's be honest, pajamas disguised as workout gear. And yet, today, I found myself biking down Bloor Street wondering where on Earth I was going to find some dance pants. Yes, you read that correctly. Ragdoll v. 2.0, tragic right hip-styles, is stepping back on to the sprung floor for the first time in well over fifteen years. So I broke down and bought some stuff from the dreaded Lululemon, who kindly gave me 50 cents off for not taking a bag. And I admit it, I was wrong about them. The pants I bought are super comfortable as is the dance top so, bloody hell, I hate it when the hippies are right.

All through high school and up until my second year of university when my hip first started to truly degenerated, I danced. Like so many girls I know, we ate far too little, wore ugly black leotards with pink tights, and plied with our turnouts stretched to the limits. And yet, as much as I enjoyed it, I wasn't meant for it, and my body quit on me quite early. I could blame the disease, which was a big reason why I stopped dancing. When you're taking prednisone, they don't like you do high-impact exercise because the drug is so hard on your bones (hence the tragic hip), but since then, I've never really had any form of what you would call regular exercise.

That's years, people.

Oh sure, I've spent many a summer biking all over the city, and we do walk a fair amount being urban dwellers, but the more my hip melted in my body, the less I could do. And then I got sick. And then sicker. And now almost two years of the magical hip have passed and I still haven't found any sense of regular, healthy exercise. Too afraid, with my "prednisone 25" to put on a bathing suit and jump in a pool, and with the ragdoll aerobics seriously unstructured, I need something that gets me moving, and something that carries on into the winter when it's too cold to ride my bike.

Hence, Technique I at the school at the Toronto Dance Theatre. A girlfriend of mine suggested it and we're going to go together, which makes me happy, considering we danced together all through high school. Anyway, if I'm totally crippled and exhausted on Wednesday morning when I go see the kidney doctor for yet another disease check up, at least it'll be a happy kind of tired, one that might help me finally lose some weight.

Speaking of which, I've started my annual no sugar, no wheat (where I can) and no dairy (except yoghurt) diet. Last year I failed miserably and think I lasted about two weeks. I'm already well into week one (pathetic, I know) but haven't totally cracked. I had some nachos at my first Writer's Group meeting on Wednesday and a burrito last night when I had dinner with my cousins, but have had absolutely no sugar (fruit yes, sugar, no).

If I put it all together, maybe the goal of being truly, truly healthy this year will actually be achieved. And how nice would it be to cross that mother farker off the list.