The fit and the fabulous

One persistent problem I have is my body's fascinating ability to put on weight. If I stop exercising and enjoying light dinners twice a week, it's guaranteed I'll gain three kilos by Day 30.

This is why yours truly does not typically eat dinners, tries exercising regularly, occasionally falls victim to fad diets and constantly blames mom for being the root of the problem (really, mom, the pear shape and slow metabolism are ALL yours).

But for all the chubby genes that she, or dad, passed on to me, they compensated for it by teaching me to manage by exercising. Good muscle-aching, sweat-producing, physical workouts -- from swimming and gymnastics to rigorous dance lessons. Dad, longing for a son, tried to get me into soccer and karate. Later, obviously without considering that learning graceful dances and forceful karate moves at the same time was already confusing enough for any third grader, mom decided to introduce ... yoga.

But I was too busy growing up to slow down and embrace yoga. Instead, I kept swimming and doing aerobics, took up more dances and traded in my karate belt for a marching band uniform.

Yoga resurfaced much later in life. What was one to do when suddenly finding oneself with lots of free time after a post-9/11 layoff? One could have sat around eating cookies, feeling sorry for oneself, or one could have killed time by exercising. Especially with an inexpensive YMCA conveniently located in front of one's apartment.

The Y, surprisingly, offered various classes ranging from regular step-aerobics to yoga, Pilates, kick-boxing and aquarobics. Trying to balance menial part-time jobs and networking for a real job, I instantly turned to yoga to help find serenity, while stretching out cold muscles.

Needing some cardio to lose a few extra pounds, I joined a kick-boxing class as well. No, it's not the violent, anything- goes sport that the Thais invented. Our hour-long kick-boxing class consisted of an instructor directing participants to jump, kick, shadowbox and punch sandbags in rapid fire.

Having practiced karate before, the kicking and jabbing was easy, but I had to learn to deliver a right hook and uppercut, and pace my breathing. In the first class, I lasted 12 minutes. But as my endurance built up I eventually was able to survive a full hour. Having a fat-free, muscular instructor was a great motivator to achieve everything she was displaying in her tight getups. Punching sandbags was also a good way to relieve the disappointment of getting yet another rejection letter from a jittery, post-9/11, non-hiring company.

But it was Pilates that was the prized discovery. Having read so many A-list actresses rave about it, I decided to give it a try. As resourceful as the Y was, it wasn't equipped with specially designed Pilates machines, but the mat class nonetheless stole my heart.

Oh, the art of aligning your limbs and torso to find your core, located inside between your stomach muscles and lower spine, making it your powerhouse through deep nose inhaling and mouth exhaling while holding your abs as flat as if sucking your navel into your spine -- supplying strength from the core, and not from the moving limbs. The beauty of delicately, yet strenuously rolling up and down, vertebrae by vertebrae, while maintaining perfect hip alignment. The fabulous after-workout feeling that your stretched-out body has somehow lengthened, grown taller.

If kick-boxing burned off the fat, yoga and Pilates formed the muscles into lean, non-bulky shapes. Within weeks I shed pounds and was more toned than I'd ever imagined possible.

Returning home that summer, my eagle-eyed mom noticed that I was walking better, which was really a defeat, considering for years she thought I didn't carry a proper posture. I vowed to continue my result-proven regimen.

This time, having regained employment, I could afford the class of a prayer-chanting native yogi, and a certified Pilates instructor with spine-corrector, reformer and Cadillac machines. And when a hip gym downtown, with its roster of body combat and power spinning classes opened its doors, guess who signed up and has been a faithful member ever since.

Which reminds me, I've fallen off the track again lately! I need Pilates to help with my contorted legs from running around all day in the office in high heels. Besides burning calories, punching sandbags also provides a safe substitute for, say, punching some nasty devil at work. And when I finally let off steam and want to feel serenely fabulous, I'll assume the lotus position and chant: Sarve bhavantu sukinah
May all of us be happy
Sarve bhavantu niramayah
May all of us be healthy
Sarve bhadrani pashyantu
May we see good things around us
Maa kaschid dukabag bhavet
May we never suffer any misery or sorrow
Om shanti, shanti, shanti
Peace, peace, peace ...

-- Miss Sassy