New Year's Resolution
New Year's Resolution
By Diana von Welanetz Wentworth
Hello Body, I wrote in my journal and listened inwardly for an answer. My belly growled back, It's about time you paid some attention to me!

How did my body and I lose rapport? It began in my agonizing year in junior high when I grew eight inches in one year and didn't know what size my feet would be when my lanky form climbed out of bed in the morning. This body, I thought, is way out of control. So I began to pretend that it didn't exist. I fed and clothed it, but hoped if I otherwise ignored it, it might go away.

Determined to heal my mind/body rift, I mustered my courage and marched into a gym near my home, looking for a personal trainer. I had never done any deliberate exercise other than walking, so this was going to be a big stretch.

The bronzed, sculpted woman at the desk could have been a model in a muscle magazine. Gathering my courage, I took a breath, and on the exhale I said, "I'd like a trial session." Clearly bored by the prospect of a midlife client, she put me through an extraordinary number of impossible-for-me exercises, all the while pursing her lips and stealing seductive glances at herself in the mirror.

She could have the mirror. Feeling old and frumpy, I hated every minute on the torture machines, but pride kept me in the game. Muttering this is good for me like a mantra, I signed up for twelve sessions, and paid in advance.

Buyer's remorse descended like a dark cloud when I got home, but I vowed to do it for one month no matter what. The next day I could hardly move; every muscle in my body ached. I canceled my appointment. Still sore two days later, I called and asked for my money back. No one returned my call; the contract's fine print told me no refunds. I'd gotten myself into this pickle and I would have to live with it.

For the next few months, I vented my anger doing exercise videos at home. It's too much trouble to go to a gym, I told myself. I like the privacy of working alone. But these solo sessions at home were inconsistent, and I knew I needed weight training to get results.

One day my psychologist-daughter Lexi told me over lunch that she had begun working out at a gym and raved about the improvement in her body tone, energy level and stamina. Meanwhile, I recounted my hard luck story, getting tired of my whining litany.

Lexi offered to drive across town to join me at my gym so I bit the bullet and made an appointment with a different trainer. He and Lexi had me laughing all through the session. We clarified my goals and set a schedule of three times a week.

I attended every session, worked at a moderate pace and never suffered the soreness of the original workout again. Sure enough, I began to love the surge of energy and satisfaction that came after each session. When the month was up, I signed up for three more - then three more months after that. By then I found a trainer named Mike Krpan who came right to my house for the same price as the gym, and I've stayed with twice-weekly workouts for almost five years. I realize that not everyone can afford or needs to hire a personal trainer, but that's what works for me.

I'm amazed at how much my formerly ignored body has changed. Even though I weigh only three pounds less than when I began, weight is no longer an issue. Now when I look in a mirror, I purse my lips and smile as I see firm arms and shoulders, a slimmer waist, flatter tummy, taut and toned thighs, and straighter posture. Best of all, I feel years younger.

I was shopping with Lexi the other day, and I tried on a rather revealing dress. "Wow," she said, "guess I'll have to call you 'Buff Mama!'"

The time and effort it took to train these last few years were one of the best investments of my life. Now when I ask my body what it would like me to do, it tells me I'm doing just fine. In the place of anger and frustration is a new sense of teamwork and partnership, my body and soul.


Hello Body, I wrote in my journal and listened inwardly for an answer. My belly growled back, It's about time you paid some attention to me!

How did my body and I lose rapport? It began in my agonizing year in junior high when I grew eight inches in one year and didn't know what size my feet would be when my lanky form climbed out of bed in the morning. This body, I thought, is way out of control. So I began to pretend that it didn't exist. I fed and clothed it, but hoped if I otherwise ignored it, it might go away.

Determined to heal my mind/body rift, I mustered my courage and marched into a gym near my home, looking for a personal trainer. I had never done any deliberate exercise other than walking, so this was going to be a big stretch.

The bronzed, sculpted woman at the desk could have been a model in a muscle magazine. Gathering my courage, I took a breath, and on the exhale I said, "I'd like a trial session." Clearly bored by the prospect of a midlife client, she put me through an extraordinary number of impossible-for-me exercises, all the while pursing her lips and stealing seductive glances at herself in the mirror.

She could have the mirror. Feeling old and frumpy, I hated every minute on the torture machines, but pride kept me in the game. Muttering this is good for me like a mantra, I signed up for twelve sessions, and paid in advance.

Buyer's remorse descended like a dark cloud when I got home, but I vowed to do it for one month no matter what. The next day I could hardly move; every muscle in my body ached. I canceled my appointment. Still sore two days later, I called and asked for my money back. No one returned my call; the contract's fine print told me no refunds. I'd gotten myself into this pickle and I would have to live with it.

For the next few months, I vented my anger doing exercise videos at home. It's too much trouble to go to a gym, I told myself. I like the privacy of working alone. But these solo sessions at home were inconsistent, and I knew I needed weight training to get results.

One day my psychologist-daughter Lexi told me over lunch that she had begun working out at a gym and raved about the improvement in her body tone, energy level and stamina. Meanwhile, I recounted my hard luck story, getting tired of my whining litany.

Lexi offered to drive across town to join me at my gym so I bit the bullet and made an appointment with a different trainer. He and Lexi had me laughing all through the session. We clarified my goals and set a schedule of three times a week.

I attended every session, worked at a moderate pace and never suffered the soreness of the original workout again. Sure enough, I began to love the surge of energy and satisfaction that came after each session. When the month was up, I signed up for three more - then three more months after that. By then I found a trainer named Mike Krpan who came right to my house for the same price as the gym, and I've stayed with twice-weekly workouts for almost five years. I realize that not everyone can afford or needs to hire a personal trainer, but that's what works for me.

I'm amazed at how much my formerly ignored body has changed. Even though I weigh only three pounds less than when I began, weight is no longer an issue. Now when I look in a mirror, I purse my lips and smile as I see firm arms and shoulders, a slimmer waist, flatter tummy, taut and toned thighs, and straighter posture. Best of all, I feel years younger.

I was shopping with Lexi the other day, and I tried on a rather revealing dress. "Wow," she said, "guess I'll have to call you 'Buff Mama!'"

The time and effort it took to train these last few years were one of the best investments of my life. Now when I ask my body what it would like me to do, it tells me I'm doing just fine. In the place of anger and frustration is a new sense of teamwork and partnership, my body and soul.