Jane Fonda and me
Last Monday marked the two-year anniversary of this blog, which I launched to complement my new writing career. I wanted to test my creative stamina with mandatory biweekly deadlines. And if nothing else, I figured the blog would serve as a convenient badge of reinvention, a marker between old profession and new.
Looking back at the start of this endeavor had me thinking back to the very beginning, to the first—and only—creative writing I ever did publicly before. Which, it turns out, is like everything now and can be found on the internet if you know where to look. So, for some anniversary fun, today’s post will take us back to 1983 and beautiful Middlebury College.
That fall of my junior year, my close friend and former roommate was serving as Editor in Chief of the college newspaper, The Middlebury Campus. Although my memories are a bit fuzzy on this point, my best recollection is that, always looking for content, my friend asked me several times to consider submitting a feature article of some kind. Focused on other things, I kept putting her off. Eventually though, an idea hit me, and I finally agreed. The piece was published in the November 4th issue of the paper. The topic: the Jane Fonda Workout.
For those of you too young to know, in the 1980s, acclaimed actor and outspoken social activist Jane Fonda launched a home fitness revolution with her workout book, videos, and recordings (which are still available for purchase). It’s a bit hard to look at now, knowing as we do that this icon of physical fitness and beauty was battling an eating disorder at the time. Back then, though, the Jane Fonda Workout was all the craze, and I must have decided it made an easy target for a humorous piece. It didn’t take long to write or type up, and once I submitted it, I gave the article very little thought.
Until the day the paper came out.
For some reason, my dense twenty-year old brain hadn’t anticipated that a lot of people would actually read the article. It was bad enough hearing from other students, but at one point my intimidating Spanish professor pulled me aside and told me IN ENGLISH how much he liked what I’d written. A fierce proponent of Middlebury’s immersion theory of language teaching, he NEVER spoke to me in English. But as much as I appreciated the compliment, I couldn’t take the public scrutiny. My professors had read the article! My parents might read it! With that realization, my nascent interest in creative writing died. Instead, I pursued a career in law where all the writing I did was under the rubric of advocacy, not personal expression. But that experience toughened me up, and once I hit fifty, the idea of people reading my work grew less intimidating. Many creative writing classes followed.
So here it is—the article that (stupidly) scared me from writing for years. When I found it on the Internet Archive, the pleasant surprise was that the “voice” of the piece is remarkably similar to that of the blog, and the topic remains timely (substitute spin class or Orangetheory or whatever current fitness craze you like). While I’ve resisted my profound desire to improve the language (fear not, I see the problems), I couldn’t allow incorrect comma usage to stand. Age does have its benefits.
Anyone Can Do Jane
Last year a new cellulite-threatening fitness fad swept the nation and the Middlebury College community. Like all such programs, it promised the devotee a new Adonis-like figure, and even now the dangerous trend continues to threaten those few fat and happy individuals left on campus. What is this latest attempt at a “shape-up” program? On the streets it’s known as “doing Jane,” but the use of “do” here is completely unrelated to the “Debbie Does Dallas” sense of the word. (Get your minds out of the gutter!) Rather, “doing Jane” is the way those in the know refer to exercising with the Jane Fonda Workout.
I must confess that I too have “done” Jane. Yes, for a while I was lured by the promise of a body like Jane Fonda’s, who at 40 looks better than I ever have (or ever will for that matter). And yes, peer pressure was a factor too. I mean, all my friends were doing Jane—why shouldn’t I? But there were hidden pitfalls no one warned me about, things that I have learned which have caused me to swear off Jane forever. Let my story stand as a warning to all potential Jane followers. This is the true story of the Jane Fonda Workout. (The names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
It was easy for me to start doing Jane. My roommate was the one who first turned me on to this method of getting exercise. She had been doing Jane for a while and promised me all sorts of physical and psychological benefits if I would try Jane too. Feeling especially blob-like at the time, I did.
Even on Day One I realized that this may not be for me. The warm-up wasn’t bad; it was actually kind of fun. We jumped and stretched, laughing and smiling just like we were on an aerobic exercise commercial or the Richard Simmons show. (“Oh, this is fun! I love exercising my fat away!”) The arm exercises were a breeze. (“Wow, even I can handle this!”) and the waist exercises were fine—a little tougher but still okay. (“And Jane calls this the ‘advanced’ workout, chuckle, chuckle.”)
Then reality hits. In her disgustingly cheerful voice, which coaches you through all the exercises and which you hate with a passion by your third Workout, Jane says, “And now let’s move on to the abdominal exercises.” I won’t bore you with the whole painful story, but let’s just say no one warned me about the knife that pierces your stomach muscles halfway through the infinite number of different exercises she has you do. I didn’t even know I had so many different stomach muscles.
And for all you athletic guys sitting out there thinking this is really wimpy, let me just say that Jane is not easy. I’ve done the Workout with guys—guys who ski, run and lift weights, and they were hurting as badly as any girl in the room. So there.
Anyway, the leg part that follows is equally interesting, but the names of the exercises have got to go. There is “Rover’s Revenge” and the ever popular “Donkey Kick,” which may be really effective exercises, but I really don’t get into being called a dog or an ass, which is exactly what you feel like doing this stuff.
It all ends with buttock tucks, which Jane so kindly points out are her favorite. By this time, you could care less about this sadistic wench who always sounds like she’s smiling and never has to catch her breath. The tucks are probably her husband’s favorite too, since these exercises can have, well, ummm, a distinctively sexual connotation. It might have something to do with the rocking motion of the hips, but I’m a good Catholic girl, so I wouldn’t know. My mother wasn’t particularly fond of this one though. I don’t want to get into too detailed a description here. You can use your imagination.
But don’t let the pain of the Workout dissuade you; after all, “no pain, no gain.” And don’t worry just because you look like a beached whale (you know, all white and jiggly, thrashing around on the floor) while you do it. Worry about the fact that you will walk like you just got off a horse for three days afterward, and you won’t be able to bend over.
Not only that, but if your genes are like mine (that is, if your father wasn’t a movie star), you’ll never look like Jane. So why bother with all the suffering? Because most of all, Jane is boring. Really dull. I’m talking suicidally, incredibly boring. I’d never exercise again if it meant I had to hear her enthusiastically shout “Work those abdominals!” even one more time.
But don’t let me talk you out of trying the Workout. Jane really should be experienced personally to get the true picture. You can borrow my tape if you want. You can keep my tape if you want. I’ve sworn off Jane forever.