Like every die-hard Hamptonite, our fearless Flack is always looking for new diets, regimes, and devices that promise to give her the best beach bod at Flying Point. Luckily, she’s lived to tell the tales!
In celebration of The Beauty & Body issue, I’m compelled to share that I’ve never met a diet or fitness trend that I didn’t immediately love…and then loathe following its inevitable failure. Every time I open some clickbait article about the miraculous power of the Booty Belt, I, too, am certain that my best body ever is merely $49.99 away. When it comes to diets, pills, and schemes, I’ve tried them all—and yet I’m not exactly Gisele. Among my short-term flings?
THE SOUTH BEACH DIET
What could be more effective than eating 40 string cheeses a day? I earnestly crammed dozens of dairy products and deli turkey slices into my face, aiming to drop four dress sizes in a week. I swanned through life feeling on top of the world, albeit a bit gassy from the cheese, only to wake up on Sunday morning with an empty pizza box on my pillow. Totes counted it as veggies and whole grains!
My nether regions are still upset. After a brutal morning class, I walked like I was perma-auditioning for a spaghetti Western for the remainder of the day. Fun fact: The teachers can’t really tell if you’re cranking up the resistance.
An ode to Whitney and Danielle—you two platinum goddesses should win the Nobel Prize. I’d do anything to be your friend. Sakara is totally genius—it takes all the guesswork out of eating healthfully and mindfully. All I needed to do was eat the delightful plastic containers chock-full of culinary delights. So I have only myself to blame for my failure, as somehow I don’t think the seven tequila sodas that I enjoyed at work events, three nights in a row, was included in the program. Does Promises have a meal plan?
Yes, I once ordered this quasi-banned drug from a random website—the best place to secure medical-grade pharmaceuticals, non? I wish I could report more on the experience, but I took a pill, blacked out, and forgot my name. I have a vague memory of seeing strange colors in the bathroom…and no, I don’t mean hallucinations. I don’t recall being hungry, though, so perhaps I should revisit?
ANY BARRE CLASS, EVER
I’ve tried them all and have always walked out after 22 minutes of hell. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to feel like some makeup-wearing ex-ballerina is blasting my thighs with a flamethrower. And if you tell me to do one more crunch with that stupid ball, well…you can shove it up your toned behind.
Maybe I’m just not a girl who flaunts a flat tummy in a tiny lace bralette without looking like Anna Nicole Smith, pre-TrimSpa. Note to self: Order TrimSpa, stat. Sigh…I’ll always have my muumuus and Miu Mius!
Keep Calm and Caftan On,