Feel the burn…it hurts!

I joined a gym.

Yes, I know…WHY?

Let me explain. Last fall, a few things happened, starting with Hurricane Sandy. Along with everything else that happened because of that Superstorm, an unusual phenomenon occurred among Jersey women called the Sandy Ten. It was the result of us sitting around, with no refrigeration or means to cook food, for eight or more days. We all ate anything that came in an Entenmann’s bakery box. In my case, we’re talking chocolate frosted donuts and crumb cake. Collectively, I think women in New Jersey gained 1.379 million pounds. I was personally responsible for about, yes, ten of them.

Then I quit my day job, which was as a bookseller at Barnes and Noble. My job had a downside, of course, but one of the great things was my daily 10,000 steps, back and forth to the main desk, during an eight-hour shift. Because I quit as winter was starting, it was hard to make up all that walking by heading outside. So I sat around. I was writing, but that doesn’t really qualify as a physical activity. When I finally stepped on a scale, I was stunned. The last time I weighed that much, I was three days away from giving birth.

So I joined a gym. It’s right down the street, literally three minutes away. It’s open 24/7, so I could, if so moved, walk down there the next time I was awake at four in the morning and felt like putting a little time on the elliptical machine.

Now, here’s the thing. I know how exercise is supposed to work. You repeat a specific activity until you’re sweaty, tired, and your muscles start to hurt. That helps built muscle tissue, which increases your metabolism, and increases strength and stamina. All good things. I know that.

But there’s a problem. When I get sweaty, my first inclination is to stop what I’m doing and get a drink, preferably something that’s served with a cute pink umbrella. When I get tired, I want to stretch out somewhere and read. When my muscles hurt, I want to first dull the pain (preferably with something that’s served with a cute pink umbrella) then rest (and stretch out and read). So, left to my own devices, any work-out would probably result in my becoming a well-rested, well-read alcoholic.

Obviously, intervention was going to be required if this was going to work.

Enter Jarrett. He’s a trainer He’s also an ex-Marine. His mother lives right in town. When I saw her in the Post Office the other day, I yelled at her.

“Your son is killing me!”

She laughed. Hey, he’s her son, so she’s probably in amazing shape and therefore completely unsympathetic.

So, Jarrett and I sat down for a chat. First, he asked me what my goals were. I recited the long litany of weight-gain woes that he listened to without his eyes glazing over. Obviously, a complete professional. Then I told him I also wanted to build muscle mass and increase my flexibility. And oh yes, I wanted really buff arms. I was going to reference Angela Bassett in What’s Love Got To Do With It, but figured he was way to young to know who I was talking about.

He gave me as assessment, which required me to do things I hadn’t done since high school gym class. I went on a few machines, did a killer sit-up or ten, and he wrote all sorts of things down. At the end of the session, I was tired, but thought, hey, that wasn’t so bad. Next day, every single part of my body hurt, and continued to do so for three days. But I toughed it out – no pain, no gain, right?

Now, when I mentioned building muscle mass, I was thinking we could find two or three muscles, you know, really big ones, and work on those. Jarrett, however, devised a program that will target a different muscle group every time I go in for a workout. I go to the gym two or three times a week. It takes two or three days for my muscles to stop hurting. So I’m going to be sore every single day for the next three months.

And did I mention cardio? It is SO boring to go on a treadmill at eight in the morning and walk and then run and then walk…even listening to great disco music from the seventies on my iPod cannot make the time go faster.

I’ve been at it about a month and haven’t lost a pound. Yes, I know, muscle weighs more that fat. Maybe my waistband is a little looser. My brother-in-law asked me if I was losing weight, so my body shape is changing. And now, when I walk the dog, I’m pulling her along, instead of the other way around.

But, once I accomplish all my goals – slim down, get a little buff, finish a mile at a respectable jog rather than a brisk walk – I know that it’s not over. I can’t relish the feeling that I’ve done the work and can now power-walk triumphantly into the sunset.

All I can do is keep going, three times a week, for the rest of my life.

Because as soon as I stop…

Relax. It’s only a game…or is it?

Do you have a person in your life who’s just a little bit…off? You know, the uncle who is convinced that there really are aliens living among us? The neighbor who is stockpiling food, just in case? Or the guy at work who will, if you let him, explain how there is a massive conspiracy, spearheaded by a shadowy underground network, to demoralize and ultimately destroy the very fabric of our society? And that they are doing it through such a simple and innocent vehicle, that we’ll never notice until it’s too late?

I always laughed at that one. First of all, who are ‘They’ exactly? How on earth could they possibly get to so many people at the same time? And what could ‘They’ do that would be so demoralizing?

Yeah, I always thought that guy was particularly crazy. But then, I downloaded a seemingly innocent game called Candy Crush Saga, and I’m beginning to think, after a few weeks of playing, that maybe, just maybe…that guy is right.

Candy Crush Saga first came to my attention because some of my Facebook friends were playing and were posting their results. They also asked if I wanted to play with them. Listen to me now, people – these requests are NOT from your friends. No friend would seek to ensnare you in such an evil time-suck. They are trying to recruit you, yes, so please – heed my warning.

Step away from the screen.

It looks so innocent. Pretty colors, bright animation, a sweet little cartoon girl to guide you along. And at first, you think, hey – why not? After all, it’s free. And it doesn’t look hard. The game is just a simple grid, filled with colored ‘candies’. It’s just like playing tic-tac-toe. You move the candies to get three in a row, those three vanish, and you find three more. So easy, right? And when you’ve completed a level, you see a banner come across the screen that says, ‘Wonderful!’

And really, don’t we all want to be wonderful?

But – what happens when you DON’T complete the level? Well, then you get a different banner.

Level failed.
You did not complete the goal.

Wait – I failed? That’s not what I’m about. I succeed. And what’s this crap about not completing the goal? I ALWAYS reach my goals. That’s what being an American is all about, reaching higher and farther, and achieving whatever we want. What’s this little animated girl, crying for pity’s sake, telling me I FAILED????

So, you try again. Of course you do. And maybe this time, you complete the level. Or not. So you try again. And again. And here is where it gets tricky. Yes, of course playing the game is free. But – want a little Booster? Something to help you along? Or, do you want a few extra tries, even after time has run out? Well, that sort of thing you can buy. And here’s another twist – you’re only allowed so many tries in a certain period of time. If you’ve used up all your tries, you have to wait. 30 Minutes. There’s even a cute little clock that show the time for you. Unless, you want to buy another ‘Life” then and there.

See what I’m getting at? This could cost you a bundle.

And here’s the thing – as you’re trying to race against the clock, or complete the level in only so-many moves, you think, ‘This is impossible’. But it’s not, and you know it, because suddenly you’ve done it, you’ve moved on to the next thing, and you’re feeling pretty good about yourself until…’This is impossible’.

Only now, you know the cold, hard truth. It’s not ‘impossible’.

You just can’t do it.

You keep trying. You stare at the screen and try to maximized your every move. If you get four in a row, you get a striped candy with extra power. Five in a row equals a round chocolate ball covered in sprinkles. If you combine two of these together, you get a super-candy. So – how can I get this from all the way over here, and combine it with this one…

Did I mention this is a real time-suck?

And then, you get to the levels where the chocolate squares actually spread, COVERING up your choices, making it that much harder!

Oh my.

Last month, I had two projects due. I finished another romantic comedy, which was sent off to an editor’s desk. I also finished my YA project that I’ll be launching in June. So, although I felt bad about not being able to post to this site in March, I had a few pretty reasons. I was busy. I was working.

I was also playing Candy Crush Saga.

I’m so sorry. Really. But how could I find time to read a book to review, or compare the screen/book versions of Silver Linings Playbook, when Level 35 was taunting me, calling out in the middle of the night, daring me to spend $.99 on an extra try?

I’m up to Level 65 now.

I’ve made it this far without buying any boosters or extra lives.

I’ve given up walking the dog and raking the yard so I can find time to work on those pesky edits.

So far, I’m failing. It’s impossible.

No, it’s not impossible. That’s the thing – I know that it’s me. I’m not good enough… no matter what I do… no matter how hard I try…

…’they’ are starting to wear me down.

Behind Downton Abbey

If you are like me, and dreading this weekend because it brings the season finale of ‘Downton Abbey’, I’ve got something here that might help you get through the dreaded Downton withdrawal. To Marry and English Lord by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace, is not, as it’s title would suggest, a light-hearted, romantic romp through Regency England. Instead, it’s the true stories of the young American women who went to England in the late 19th century and married into English Aristocracy. So it you ever wondered how a nice girl like Cora Levinson ended up as Lady Grantham, this book will tell you .

In 1860, the Prince of Wales paid a visit to America. He drove through the streets of New York City to a crowd of nearly three thousand people. That may not sound like much by today’s standards, but the number represented roughly half the population of New York. At nineteen, he was a phenomenon.

New York Society decided to throw a ball in his honor. After careful consideration, four thousand of the most socially elite in the country were invited to meet the Prince. The event was a grand success. The Prince’s first exposure to American woman left him with a great enthusiasm and affection for them, and those feelings would have quite an impact as England moved into the next century.

In the years after his visit, the Civil War changed America in several profound ways. One consequence that does not get a lot of discussion in the history books was the seemingly overnight explosions of self-made millionaires. These man sprang from nowhere, made vast fortunes, moved to New York City, and began living the Good Life. The wives of these men decorated their grand houses, bought beautiful gowns, and kept waiting to be invited into Society. That was something that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

New York Society, or, the “Knickerbockers’ were an distinguished and closed group, ruled for years by Mrs. William Backhouse Astor, known as THE Mrs. Astor. The Knickerbockers were old money, with strict rules of conduct and behavior, and didn’t want these New Money upstarts with no class or breeding cluttering up their dance floors. The term “The Four Hundred’ came about because Mrs. Astor built a ballroom that held just four hundred people, so she could exclude those she felt unworthy without seeming to deliberately snub anyone.

The men themselves didn’t care – they had money and a comfortable home – so balls and teas and dinner invitations meant nothing to him. The wives, however, were a different story, particularly if those wives were also mothers of marriageable daughters. While sons with new money could sneak in around the edges, and find suitable mates, it seemed as though daughters could not.

The first mother who realized that her beautiful and wealthy daughters could end up unsuitably married, and decided to do something drastic about it, was Clara Jerome. Her husband was a Wall Street financier, and had a boatload of money. He also loved opera and opera singers. That, and the fact that Clara knew she would never get invited to anything Mrs. Astor was involved with, caused her to move to Europe – Paris – with her three young daughters. From there, it was a hop and skip to England.

The Prince of Wales, although now married, was something of a party animal in England. He gambled, loved to eat and drink in excess, and had an eye for a pretty girl. He also remembered his affection for American woman, and began inviting them to these lavish parties. It was at those parties that a young American heiress might meet a titled but destitute Englishman, as young Jennie Jerome did. She later married Lord Randolph Churchill and had a son, Winston. The rest, as they say, is history.

Jennie Jerome was the first, but not the last, of the young, wealthy American women who crossed the pond in search of a respectable husband. This book not only tells their stories, but looks at an entire way of life, the Downton way of life. It’s fascinating. Its also incredibly complicated. The courtships and marriages of these people were fraught with peril. And once they were married, the young American girls were whisked from London, plunked down in crumbling country homes with the stereotypical Mother-In-Law from hell and no indoor plumbing, while the new husband returned to his former life of hunting, the Club, and a mistress or two. Not to mention the English style of raising their children, which was completely at odds with the American way.

There’s a lot of fun information here – the thousands of dollars of Worth dresses bought, the parties that the Prince of Wales threw(always at the expense of others), descriptions of the houses and yachts – as well as illustrations and photographs that give you some idea of what life was like for these young women. And there are some very famous names – Vanderbilt, Pfizer, Grace, (W.R Grace), Colgate, Fields (Marshall Fields) and Drexel – who sent their daughters to England in search of a husband with a title.

This was a really entertaining read, insightful and, frankly, eye-opening. Even if you’re not a fan of the Crawleys, but always thought you’d love to have been a rich heiress at the turn of the century, read this – it just might change your mind!