THE PROBLEM WITH BEING a woman of a certain age (i.e. middle-aged) is that you continue to be held to impossible female beauty standards while simultaneously dealing with the relentless natural erosion of every physical attribute. Your skin starts to get crepey and crinkly, giving your hands and neck the look of an overcooked Thanksgiving turkey. Your hair begins to thin so that you find clumps of it in the shower drain and have daily panics about one day going bald completely. And you find that the muscle strength you once took for granted, utilizing heedlessly to carry screaming toddlers out of grocery stores, flip mattresses and haul three weeks worth of laundry up and down stairs without a thought, has snuck off and left you too weak to carry the cases of Oat Milk that are constantly arriving from the cash and carry.
At the urging of both the evil Weight Watchers woman and Hippie Harry, my therapist, and in order to combat (reverse?) the ravages of time, I have decided to take up some form of exercise.
But what?
I definitely can't run like Vic, having neither the stamina nor enthusiasm for galumphing around neighbourhood streets where I might run into someone I know.
I let my gym membership expire after a single visit five years ago when I discovered that I didn't have the coordination, grace or lululemon wardrobe required to feel confident in any kind of group class.
I could be a candidate for Pilates, but recent experiences trying to access my 'core' have led me to believe that I probably don't have one.
After reviewing age-appropriate exercise options (i.e. google searching "exercises you can do without sweating"), I have discovered the perfect thing:
Face Yoga.
As it turns out, entire YouTube channels are devoted to this strange, previously unconsidered form of exercise that promises to be restorative, good for lymphatic drainage and better than botox for regaining facial tone and reversing the signs of ageing.
The regime involves 15 minutes daily of facial contortions — first grinning like an insane clown, then frowning, then making fish mouth motions, then waggling your eyebrows suggestively while pulling at your forehead with your fingers, etcetera. I feel, overall, completely up to this.
In preparation for my first Zoom-based Face Yoga class, which I have paid $29.99 for because I don't trust myself to do it unless I have a regular time and group of fellow facial contortionists to keep me honest, I have gone out and purchased myself a head-to-toe Lululemon outfit. Yes, I understand that an expensive coordinated outfit isn't strictly required in this case, but it puts me in the right mindset.
In the store, the agile looking salesperson who helped me didn't seem to know what Face Yoga was (somewhat undermining her credibility, if you ask me) but happily encouraged me to buy more than $400 worth of merchandise:
1. Stretchy leggings that are the same but somehow better than my usual dog-hairy weekend yoga pants;
2. Something called a 'technical top' which is, as promised, technically a top;
3. A zip front bra that I felt was actually discouraging the only stretching I really do on a regular basis (reaching around to do up my normal bra's hooks);
4. A cute red water bottle that says "Team Canada" on it, in case I ever go pro with Face Yoga; and finally:
5. A "Fly Away Tamer" headband that keeps my hair off my face and, when worn with my hair in a high ponytail revealing my softening jawline, helps to remind me why I need to do Face Yoga in the first place.
When I hesitated slightly at the cash register, she assured me I would get a lot of use out of all my purchases. Even if Face Yoga was a bust, she said, I could wear these items to confidently engage in any number of other activities, including running, Pilates and group gym classes.
I'M ONLY TWENTY MINUTES into my first zoom Face Yoga class when my phone starts blowing up. We spent an aggravating 10 minutes on introductions, where I learned that most of my classmates were also first-time face-yogists (yogis?). I wondered if they do that on purpose to prevent you from comparing yourself to seasoned, presumably fit and facially toned, face yoga veterans or if, I now think more likely, nobody shows up for a second class after the experience of making fish faces into a computer screen while other women make fish faces back.
Anyway, saved by the frantic pinging of my phone!
I discretely turned my camera off and typed into the group chat, "...bandwidth issues! Had to turn camera off, still doing face exercises though!" then picked up my phone to see what all the action was about.
Fourteen text messages from Natalie, who is on shift at the cafe. Oh no! I assume there's been a fire, a gunpoint robbery or worse, we've run out of Oat Milk, and there's a hoard of angry teenagers demanding lattes. I'd better read these immediately.
< There is a woman doing some kind of dance in front of the cafe while other people film her. Is that allowed?
< [IMG depicting blurry figure outside of cafe]
< She's gone, NVM.
< WHAT?!? Now there are 4 of them. All shaking their bums and doing strange jerky arm movements!
< Should I call the police?!?
< No, I won't call the police. They're not doing anything wrong, I guess. Just very weird. Must be a full moon.
< Okay, no, I am calling the police. Buttshakers just came in, taking selfies and live streaming what's in the pastry cases like this is somewhere cool like Sephora!
< Not that our cafe isn't as cool as Sephora.
< Totally is. Just... you know. Not normal.
< They just asked me where's 'Ali big butts?'! Told them I'm calling the police. Going to hide in the backroom until they've gone.
< I don't understand. They're not leaving. Making more dancing videos. More people showing up! Butts flying everywhere!
< One of them has a sign: #Big Butts. Alice, do you know what they're talking about? I'm googling it.
< [vid shared from tiktok #AliMac #BigButts #retrodancechallenge]
< OMG, is that YOU?!?!?