I love living in LA. The weather is beautiful, there’s plenty of space, all you have to do is set one foot here and you feel a lot healthier right away. I’ve never been so healthy, I’m glowing, I’m breathing, I’m…

Nah, I’m kidding.

I’ve been so busy with the move since I got here, I haven’t done anything to take care of myself. Sure, I went to a yoga class for beginners and I spend most of my time at the vegan Café Gratitude, but that’s about it. Unlike last January, when I was running on Venice Beach every day, riding my bike everywhere and taking Pilates classes like my life depended on it, now I’ve got the activity level of an oyster. An oyster who walks her dog, I guess.

Yeah, you know you’re on a downward slope when you start counting “walking around the block with your dog” as exercise.

I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have THE HEALTHIEST MAN ON THE PLANET for a fiancé. Ok, I’m exaggerating. But seriously.

Since we arrived, Chris:

Bought a juicer and has started juicing like a pro.
Stopped smoking.
Surfs two or three times a day.
When he can’t surf, he goes running.
Does weight training but without bragging about it (very important).
Stopped eating meat.
Hasn’t had a single alcoholic drink.
Wants to start meditating (yes, wanting to counts as something when you have as much determination as he does. If he wants to, he’ll do it.)

I swear, it’s true. It’s really amazing, and he does it all so naturally, it honestly makes me kind of mad. He’s tan, muscular, slimmer, relaxed, and always ready to make me a juice.

Exactly the person I’d like to be, basically, except no, not really.

If I did everything Chris was doing right now, you’d know about it. I mean, the entire world would know about it. I’d talk about it all day long, I’d be like Oprah, with a whole book on the “new me” (sponsored by Weight Watchers), tear-filled posts about how I finally found balance and how you too, you can be like me…all that.

However, let’s give credit where it’s due: I’m the one who started the momentum. I quit smoking for good last year, I meditate at least once a leap year (like walking the dog, IT COUNTS), and I really really REALLY want to be super healthy.

Also, I’m the one who got him started on juicing and gave him the idea to stop eating meat. Because I spent Christmas vacation watching ALL the documentaries on Netflix about nutrition, coming up with crazy plans for how I was going to eat nothing but plants I grew in my own garden (???), never go to the supermarket again for the rest of my life and of course, NEVER eat even one ounce of animal protein or sugar again because sugar is the devil, it’s worse than cocaine, etc…according to Netflix.

But I soon revisited that idea and whipped out my slogan: “MODERATION!!!” (OK, it’s just a word, kind of short for a slogan) but it’s the trickiest slogan in the world because practicing moderation is a thing for people with exceptional self-control, which I don’t have, as you’ve probably figured out by now.

He happened to glance over at my documentaries from time to time, never said anything. Then he started juicing because he was inspired by the documentaries.

Then one day he said to me: “I think I’m going to stop eating meat. I can’t look Lulu in the eyes and feel so much love and then go eat a steak. What’s the difference between a cow and Lulu? Huh? What’s the difference!?!?!?!?”

It’s true, Lulu has irresistible doe eyes and we love her as if we made her ourselves.

Then he said: “When I get to LA, I’m going to stop smoking.”

And we got to LA, and he stopped smoking.

AND THE LIST GOES ON.

And it’s not like he had gotten off to a great start, predestined to be super healthy. In New York, he could eat pizza three times a day (while I glared at him), he could spend months without putting his sneakers on (while I glared at him) and, full disclosure, he smoked his e-cig like a chimney – you would have thought I was engaged to Darth Vader (for those of you who are familiar with the sound an e-cigarette makes, you know what I mean)(all while I glared at him).

[Interlude Yoga Pants live from Café Gratitude: Kids, I love the chill fashion in Los Angeles, but the number of women wearing yoga pants night and day is actually kind of alarming.]

Now I don’t know what to glare at anymore. So I’m obligated to bother him a little bit about leaving his shoes in the living room, which shows how unrelaxed I am right now.

As for him, he’s staying very very cool with me and I haven’t caught him glaring at me even once since the beginning of all this. I don’t know how he does it, because if I were him, I wouldn’t be able to resist trotting out life lessons (“I feel so much better now that my body is amazing, you should try it!!!”)

So I guess unlike me, on top of being in incredible shape, my guy is not an asshole.

Let me warn you in advance, I don’t have a happy, touching conclusion to this post.

Here I am, all frustrated, looking on in admiration and incredibly jealous of his transformation. I watch the phenomenon of my fiancé with the same curiosity as when I’m watching Netflix – slouching on the couch during Christmas vacation, eating 90% dark chocolate (little annoying voice: “It’s too hard to stop!”)(other little annoying voice: “yeah but it’s 90%, it’s not the same, it’s good for your health!”)(third annoying little voice: “yeah, but if you eat two whole 90% bars, I can calculate how much of it will go to your hips if you want”).

I reassure myself by saying that next week, I’m going to find a great Pilates class, start surfing, go to the Farmer’s Market, and show the world my best self, as they say here.

Or maybe the week after that, instead?

Translated by Andrea Perdue