(Mrs. Hot is having thrilling summer adventures. The latest inspiration, titillation and transformation returns in September.)
IN WHICH I EMBRACE EXERCISE, AN ABSOLUTE ESSENTIAL DAILY EXERCISE IN SELF-LOVE.
Just watching my calories and carbs would never cut the mustard, my new condiment of choice since my beloved mayonnaise had been reduced to a soupçon of its previous robust intake. I seized upon physical activity any way I could get it, taking stairs instead of elevators or escalators, walking fast instead of waddling! and, of course, working out daily.
The point is to raise our heart rate as high as possible, then drop it back to moderate — the more intervals of this during the day, the more that pesky pooch of blubber under our bra band retreats. A good way to understand the different modes is, at moderate heart rate, you could hold a somewhat breathy conversation; at peak heart rate, you could hardly utter a syllable.
At the gym I used this premise of quality over quantity: instead of logging an hour on the treadmill or bike as I’d done years before, I did one minute of intense heart-rate raising, followed by two minutes of moderate activity. In total, just 32 minutes. Not only did my workout save time, but it proved far more effective than my tedious long haul cardio of previous years.
Note to you, dear reader: For those with substantial avoirdupois — as was my condition when I first embarked on my mission to hottitude — it’s best to give joints a fighting chance at lasting a lifetime, by not pounding them. Swimming is ideal, but otherwise a stationary bike is soothingly low-impact. Because though they’re one of the marvelous tools we have to continue an active lifestyle, and keep old age at bay, joint replacements are certainly not ideal (I happen to have one) — nor very hot.
The all-important cardio burns fat, while lifting weights builds bone density — osteoporosis > hip replacement = undeniably, unhot! Just say “NO!” to hunchbacks! Building muscle, moreover, takes the stress off our joints and, as muscle burns more calories than fat, permits that occasional indiscretion in the form of, say, a pizza from John’s, my favorite in New York and one of the very few worth the risk of a trip to Cellulite.
Meanwhile, the payoff of pumping iron — small weights, please, we’re mos def not going for a female-East German-Seventies-Olympic-shotput-thrower-with-furry-armpits look here — is the glorious male company. The hottest bods ever are getting it done all over the gym weight lifting area, the atmosphere so thick with testosterone I check my chest periodically for vicarious chest hair. (I kid, teehee — hand coyly over mouth — as if I, Mrs. Hot, could ever be anything but the most fatale of femmes!)
As weight loss occurs, too, something else develops besides your smokin’ hot physique: in the hormonal cloud that envelops the weight room, hook ups happen; the sweat of lifting can swiftly transition to a horizontal sweat between the sheets chez vous, and I’m not talking Pilates.
But exercises specific to opening the sexual chakra would be most helpful, as well as fun. Foremost among these is something I’d dabbled in years before, bellydance. The extreme pelvic activity — bumps and grinds — is a no-brainer to access my Inner Goddess, while shimmying awakens every cell of my being. Note to cell: Hello, sexy! Meanwhile, the sultry Middle Eastern music resonates with my need for an exotic adventure.
Importantly, when I started — and I can’t stress this enough — I DID NOT CARE that I was overweight and ungainly with the moves; I mustered sufficient self-love to follow the routines for myself and my own growth, no matter how much was jiggling in the room-length mirrors. I was inspired, moreover, by my gorgeous and talented teachers, and the grace and beauty of my more svelte and accomplished classmates; eventually I knew I would be one of them.
In return for my self-acceptance and commitment, I wasn’t just benefitted physically with greater skills, dexterity and flexibility: following and learning the dance moves, as the use of a new part of my brain, is yet another means of sharpening my mind and keeping Alzheimer’s at bay.
Because dementia, dear reader, will NEVER be hot.
Yours truly,
