When I was maybe 25, I made a new friend at a bar — we were both writers, I was freelance and she was an assistant at a magazine — and early on, we decided to go to a spa together. I didn’t think anything about being in a bathing suit in front of her, even though she was A) Really toned and B) Wistful about hitting the gym more despite her time-sucking 9 to 5. She took one look at me and said disapprovingly: “God, if I was freelance, I’d be in such good shape.” She’s my daughter’s godmother now. Just kidding! I don’t have a daughter and I never talked to that woman again. Although the tip came in the form of shade, she did have a point. Until the last few years, I didn’t work out — like, ever, even though every psychiatrist I’ve had since I was a teenager has recommended regular exercise for my clinical depression (aside from/in addition to medication, obvs).

But I was like, “Sorry, what? Half a pack of Marlboro 27s and a bottle of white wine at noon every day? If you say so, Doc!” I’m sort of an all-or-nothing person when it comes to health. In The Heights Vocal Selections Pdf Reader more.