“You’re doing great. OK, now five push-ups.”
I recently hired a personal trainer. Because I’m in my mid-40s, and all these articles yell things like LOW BONE DENSITY ~ MUSLE LOSS ~ LIFT HEAVY SHIT. So, I’ve been properly scared into working out beyond yoga and my Peloton bike.
So there I was, in a sufficiently cool-looking gym that was dark and gritty but also smelled like Mrs. Meyers soap, and my trainer was telling me to do push-ups. This was the first time I had met with him. We were doing a fitness assessment, and I was nervous.
“Push-ups on toes or knees?” I was already down on the ground and convinced I knew the answer. I’m a raging feminist, but I am also a girl who only does Girl Push-ups.
“On your toes.”
What the fuck?
I sat back on my heels and looked up at him. “I don’t think that’s possible. I’ve never tried push-ups on my toes.”
“Great day to try!” He looked all excited for me and I hated him a bit.
Try? Like, in front of him?
Humiliating. I was literally going to fall on my face. Could he at least turn around or something?
I have a hard time with the concept of trying. Trying is embarrassing. I said this to my husband once; he looked at me wide-eyed, horrified, and really hoping I was kidding. But I wasn’t. I assumed everyone was humiliated by trying, but that turned out not to be true, so I’ve been thinking about this particular mental habit I have.
It’s not hard to understand where this comes from. Growing up as an actor is full of embarrassing trying. Auditions are a hellscape of judgment, which results in 95% rejection and failure.
In 1999, I was in a short film that a few of my friends put together, called George Lucas in Love. It went viral at a time when going viral meant people handing VHS copies to one another. It was a spoof mash-up of Star Wars and Shakespeare in Love, and I played the inspiration for Princess Leia, hair buns and all. The film got lots of attention, and so did I.