Last night, at 10:53, I had a decision to make. Many of you pondered the same choice, and at least some of you have decided as I did: Faced with the option of doing crunches or placing my weary head on a fluffy soft pillow with a nice cool pillow case, closing my eyes and drifting off into oblivion, I went with the latter. My new friend Beth Arky jokingly posted on Facebook that she’d just done 300 and that now I’d have to do 600 today to make up for it.
Double or nothing. You can see where this is going.
When no amount of crunches, reverse crunches, spirals, reformer core-tighteners, pulsing ab-flatteners, weighted 100s, corkscrews, or visualizing my bellybutton touching my spine, as several pilates teachers enjoined me to do, will fuse my separated abdominal muscles, what’s the point? (For the never-been-pregnant among you, bisected stomach muscles is a common result of carrying another human or two under your ribcage for 9 months. No, they don’tÃ‚Â tell you that either.)
I don’t mean this literally. Things hang together better when I do some crunches versus doing none. My back feels stronger and sucking in my gut, as I do reflexively, takes less effort. Overhang is visibly reduced. But as for that elusive flat belly? Fergit it.
This is how it begins, folks. The “why bothers” creep in one by one until you go from opting for sleep (which, in fairness, is restorative and, well, necessary) over crunches. The next thing you know, it’s comfortable shoesÃ‚Â over nice-looking ones. Then it’s clogs with socks. Then it’s not dealing with your hair. After that it’s skipping makeup because it takes too long to make you look half as good as you once did without it. Then..
Wait a minute. All those things have already happened. How does one gain traction on this particular slippery slope?