My Roots as a Gym Whore to Be

I am a gym whore. I put out to work out! This is how it all began.

I grew up in the Bronx, in an apartment over a few stores. My grandparents owned the building. So because my parents weren’t paying rent, they had extra money to pour into music and dance lessons for my sister and me. I performed in recitals as part of my dance school’s ballet program, and Mom and Grandma lovingly sewed my costumes. Soon I was invited to perform weekly on NBC-TV’s Sunday morning show, “The Children’s Hour,” a variety hour for talented kids. What an eye-opener that was! I saw young children with dyed yellow hair and heavy makeup. There were hovering stage moms, and pushy agents. There were producers, directors, and people screaming orders from control rooms. It was madness, and a real adventure for a kid whose simple life revolved around family and school.

As I grew older, my dancing extended into modern, jazz, tap, and, to satisfy Mom’s love for all things Spanish, Spanish and Flamenco—complete with castanets, custom made for me in Spain. Mom would take me on the train to Manhattan every Saturday, where I studied with Madam Helene Viola, teacher of Jose Greco (who was actually from Brooklyn). When the greatest exponent of Spanish dancing, Escudero, visited the studio from Spain for a recital, he saw my fiery personality and my long red hair, and re-named me La Rojita (Little Red). I was all of 14 years old, and I was having a great time.

Not surprisingly, I was not a great technical performer—because of my fire on stage. Unconsciously, I must have reasoned that I didn’t need to perfect my technique (as though that is ever an excuse!!), since my stage presence was so palpable. Today I know that my connection with my audiences on stage is a gift from God. But during that time of my life, I just enjoyed the pure ecstasy of tormenting and teasing audiences with clacking heels, swaying body, and seductive moves. I had found my niche. And I suffered from Drama Junkie Syndrome, enthralled by the “high” of applause, depleted when the circus left town. But no one ever knows that everything we learn is everything we need.

In elementary school, the girls teased me with the nickname “Legs.” In my twenties, I pursued a doctorate at New York University by night, while teaching in the South Bronx by day. Between academic classes, I’d rush to Carnegie Hall to take dance classes. Fellow grad students nastily re-named me “dancing doctor!” These put-downs and more made me tougher. Being unique is never an easy journey for a much-too-sensitive young person. But it pushed me to devise coping skills that I teach others today.

Growing up as a dancer was actually a perfect backdrop for me to hit the TV screen as “the busiest television therapist in the business” (Thanks, New York Times.) And it was also the perfect backdrop for someone seeking to maintain her health and body as age assaults her baby-boomer body.

The gym is where I nourish my body. But, as you will see, an added benefit is in the characters I meet. They transcend me to another classroom, a true post-doctoral excursion. All the while, my interactions with them nourish my sprit and mind, and make me sharper with my relationship advice . . .