Working Out While “Workin’ It”

I’m always on the prowl for unusual and bizarre information, especially when it has to do with bodies and exercise.

My latest find is an exercise class called “Stiletto Strength,” and it’s taking the gym world by spike heel.

The classes were developed by a gym called Crunch, which offers them in Los Angeles, New York, and Miami.

Here’s the stiletto class description from their online site:

Stiletto Strength
B.Y.O.H. – Bring Your Own Heels and strut your stuff runway style in this calf-boosting, posture-building, cat-walking diva class.

Evidently all calves are simply not created equal when it comes to teetering around in tarty heels—some of us require a workout just to learn how to hobble.

I wouldn’t even try. Along with practically every other muscle group, I’m a member of the calf-muscle deprived group. But there’s a reason for this: I grew up as a member of the “Stiletto Gap Generation.” Back in the late 70’s, when I was going through maximum adolescent angst, no one dreamed of wearing high heels, not even the girly-girls in the southern town where I lived. Heels meant you were overdressed. They meant you were trying too hard. They were too obvious. I don’t recall seeing a single pair of high heels in anyone’s closet during college. Later, during the 80’s, most of us switched to power heels—which meant two inches high, max.

Then I clobbered one of my knees and stopped thinking about heels altogether, except for avoiding them whenever possible. If an occasion demanded me to wear heels, I’d go for a cunning little kitten style. And I didn’t feel the least bit out of step—to my way of thinking, stilettos were what my five-foot tall mother had worn, to make herself look taller. They were strictly for the cocktail crowd, which meant O-L-D.

Fast forward twenty or so years, and I must have snapped awake—I think it happened sometime between Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives. I realized that torture shoes had made a roaring comeback, even for women my age. (Like all things fashion-related, I probably discovered this bit of news about ten years late).

So, should I take an exercise class to pump up my calves, and learn how to improve my range of motion in my ankle and great toe, which is evidently critical to acquiring a proper stiletto stride?
Hell, no! I’m already doing major damage control on my abs, thighs and triceps. There’s no stamina left over for building up ankles and toes.

So ladies, I give you your Jimmy Choos. Hand me my Easy Spirits. I guess won’t be seeing you in Stiletto Strength.

On the other hand, I won’t be seeing you at the orthopedic surgeon’s office in five years, either.

Cozying up to Killer Hobbies

I recently took it upon myself (along with co-blogger, Linda O. Johnston) to do a bit of research into hobby-oriented mystery series. We came up with some interesting information--in fact, we've prepared an entire discussion/presentation on the subject of hobby-oriented mysteries that we are taking "on the road" in the Southern Califonia area. If you would like us to appear at your book club, library, bookstore or discussion group, please contact one of us through our web sites. (We can also teleconference in to groups that meet in other locations).

But here's a little preview of some of what we talk about:

What’s a “hobbyist’s” cozy mystery?

· By a conservative estimate, about 60-65% of Berkley/NAL Prime Crime imprints are based on hobbies.

· Most cozies are geared toward a female audience.

· The story stars an amateur sleuth, usually a well-educated female.

· Her life experiences have given her special skills that she uses in the course of solving a crime.

· Her hobby can be very diverse (scrap booker, oenophile, B&B owner, art collector, quilting).

· The location of the story is usually a small town or confined environment. This makes it believable that all the residents know each other.

· She usually has friends, relationships, or family that can get her “uncozy” police procedural information (autopsy results, investigation updates).

· Most cozies are series.

· Most of the characters in the story are fairly likable, often quirky.

· Cozies are “kinder, gentler” stories—no overt violence or overt sex (okay, well, except for my series, the Fat City Mysteries. There you get a lot of sex and violence!).

· The story is fast-paced, with lots of red herrings.

· Often, two people die before the book ends, both offstage. The first murder often takes place before the story opens. The connection between the two people is what helps the sleuth solve the crime. She is able to make that connection in a way the police fail to.

(One more disclaimer about DYING TO BE THIN—it shows the murder victims splat on the page. I think I have a few uncozy "bones" as a writer!)

What are the current trends in cozy mysteries?

The current trend is to make cozies “educational” and include bonus information, such as patterns, diet tips, or recipes.

For example, DYING TO BE THIN has diet tips at the beginning of each chapter, like the following one:

There’s an old saying: Scratch a depression, and you’ll find an anger. Well, scratch an overweight woman, and you may find an angry one underneath. Many of us eat to repress angry feelings—over a rotten childhood, over a chintzy news budget that doesn’t cover wardrobe expenses…you name it, we’ve got plenty to be angry about. Learn to express anger in a healthy, assertive way. Which doesn’t include diving into a pint of Chunky Monkey.

—From The Little Book of Fat-busters by Mimi Morgan

What about you? Are there things about hobby-oriented cozy mysteries that particularly attract you? Are there things you wish were different about the stories? We'd really love to hear your feedback. Best, Kathryn

And now let's go—live!—to a Zombie Gerbil from Outer Space

So I'm looking over my upcoming book tour schedule for DYING TO BE THIN, which launches on October second. The tour includes several highlights that I’m especially thrilled about, including some media appearances (for updates, see my web site.)

Among other places, I’ll be appearing on a morning television show.

That interview will be the first time I’ve set foot inside a TV studio in more than twenty years. And for me, it may prove to be a bittersweet moment.

First, a bit of background:

Twenty-plus years ago, I graduated from Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism. During my stint at the J School, I concentrated in broadcasting. My dream was to become a television reporter, and perhaps eventually an anchor.
But my academic advisor soon informed me, in no uncertain terms, that to have a career on camera, I’d have to lose weight.

I’d have to lose a lot of weight. At two-hundred-plus pounds, I needed to lose approximately one-half of myself.

This was a tall order, especially in the days before laparoscopic surgery and stomach rings.

To remediate my excess adipose situation, after graduation I packed up my TR6 and sallied south to Durham, North Carolina, the self-proclaimed “Diet Capital of the World.” There, I enrolled in a residential diet clinic (read: fat farm). Nine hungry months later, I left Durham, tipping the scales at 114 pounds. (At five foot five, I figured even TV news would be satisfied with that three-digit number.) Armed with a new designer wardrobe, I soon landed a reporting internship, and later a full-time job, at a station in South Carolina.

But I quickly discovered that the reality of TV news reporting was far different than I’d imagined. The job involved crazy hours (no problem for me), and tons of stress (some problem for me). To my dismay, I also discovered that I suffered from a bit of camera shyness.

Doing live shots was especially challenging. When you do a live shot, you stand there in front of the camera, holding a microphone, addressing hundreds of thousands of people—without a script. To make things worse, you also have a disembodied voice (the studio producer) yakking at you through an earpiece.

Accomplished professionals in TV-News land, like Anderson Cooper and Katie Couric, make live television look easy.

Trust me, it’s not.

There’s a scene in DYING TO BE THIN that addresses the peculiar challenges of live shots:

In this scene, my protagonist, Kate Gallagher, has just finished her first live shot. It’s gone well, and she’s been congratulated by the cameraman:

“Thanks, Reggie,” I said, removing my earpiece. I was riding a huge surge of relief, a high, really, that my maiden live shot had gone so smoothly. I’ve seen first-time live shots go horribly wrong—the reporters get spacey, or they forget what they’re supposed to say entirely and freeze up in front of the camera the way a hairy-footed gerbil gets hypnotized by a cobra.”

True confession time—that was my first live shot I was describing in the book. I was about as polished as a zombie gerbil from outer space.

I eventually recovered from that rough start, and improved. But along the way, I learned that television news wasn’t the right career for me. Nowadays, I’m much happier being ensconced behind the word processor, spinning out stories that turn out just the way I want them to.

To paraphrase Dirty Harry, “A woman’s got to know her limitations.”

But I’m thrilled to get the chance to go back on television as a guest. A studio guest doesn’t have all the pressure of dealing with where the cameras are, or how many seconds are left before the break, or a producer who’s talking through her earpiece.

Guests can just relax, smile, and be themselves.

Ahh…sounds like the perfect assignment for me.

Getting the lard out

This week brought about a sea change in my approach to personal fitness.

Prompted by last week’s faux health scare, I’ve done a lot of soul searching. The upshot is that I’ve taken charge—really taken charge, this time—of my fitness goals. And I’m not just talking about losing weight—I’m talking cardiovascular health, muscular flexibility, and any other health index that I can impact favorably with diet and exercise.

To brainstorm a plan of action, last Friday I met with my family doctor. After taking my vital readings, he fixed me with his best Stern Doctor’s-eye, then socked it to me with some strict lifestyle prescriptions.

To achieve a decent level of fitness (not to mention to achieve a minimal level of eye-candy appeal), he told me that I must do the following:

• Rid my larder of any foods that contain hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup, and anything containing enriched (nouns). Those ingredients, it turns out, are serial killers of cardiovascular health.
  
  Okay, I thought. Granted. Except—do you know how hard that is? Practically everything in my cupboards contains those ingredients. Especially my beloved, convenient meals-in-a-box. You know, the ones where you just add chicken or beef, stir in a cup of water, and—voila! Dinner for four.
  
  Turns out those box-meal babies are loaded with artery-clogging hydrogenated oils. Without those culinary fallbacks, I might—gasp—actually have to cook! How can I be expected to cook on deadline?
  


• Walk thirty minutes a day. Every day, up and down steep hills, or their equivalent on a treadmill.
  
  I really hate this one. ‘Nuff said.
  


• Work out with weight resistance.
  
  I dusted off the free weights that have been rusting under my bed, and started alternating upper body and lower body workout days, using Body for Life by Bill Phillips as a guideline. There hasn’t been a dramatic transformation yet, but it does seem slightly easier to carry a 10-pound bag of kitty litter in from the car.
  


• Take up a stress-relieving pastime, like Yoga.
  
  Here’s the scoop on me and Yoga—whenever I pretzel my limbs into an Awkward Chair Pose, I have to combat an overwhelming urge to burst into giggles. All right, then—sheesh—maybe I’ll try Tai Chi. But wait—some Falun Gong practitioners hang out on the beach where I walk every morning. Maybe I can join forces with them, and become a fellow Enemy Number One of the Chinese Communist Party. At the very least, becoming a political cause célèbre would keep me from dissolving into a gigglefest every time I do my Uranus poses, or whatever-the-heck they call them.
  

High points of the week

After just a week on my new regimen, I’ve noticed some encouraging results:

• I feel a surge of new energy.


• My system has become more regular (I’ll spare you anything further on that).


• I feet…lighter. Substantially lighter, even though I lost only a pound.


• I feel less stress.


• My blood pressure has gone down.


• I feel more present in my body (don’t ask me what the heck that means. But it feels good).

Low point of the week

On Sunday around noon, I was overwhelmed by a sudden, sharp craving for a hot dog. I piled into my TR6 and drove up and down PCH until I found a place called Waldo’s Woofers, whereupon I downed Waldo’s Barkin’ Dog Special, a twelve-inch hot dog laden with chili, onion, and mustard. It was as if my system was experiencing nitrate withdrawal, and demanded a fix.

I sincerely regret that.

Guilty pleasure of the week

Am I the last person on the planet to discover Bravo’s TV series called Work Out, starring Jackie Warner? She’s a personal trainer who runs a gym called Skylab in Beverly Hills. Skylab is a fitness camp where you can immerse yourself in a regimen of fitness and nutrition. If only I were within reasonable driving distance of that gym, I would sign up!

Their web site is:
http://www.bravotv.com/Work_Out/index.shtml

Go forth this week, and get fit!