Fashion Victim: Madonna is my choice of gym buddy

May 1 2008 by Emma Johnson, Liverpool Daily Post

IT WAS the transformation that none of us could have seen coming. Grace Kelly look-alike and earth mother type Gwyneth Paltrow slopes off to spend a couple of years eating lentils and raising babies – then, poof! Up she pops on the red carpet a long-limbed glamazon.

Clad in a succession of short dresses and the season’s highest high heels, the 35-year-old stole the show all over Europe as part of the promotion for her new sci-fi flick Iron Man, before taking her new look Stateside, where she wowed the fashion pack in this risqué cut- away Stellla McCartney number and yet another pair of Christian Louboutin skyscrapers.

Quite the improvement from the sugar-plum fairy concoction Ralph Lauren designed for her to wear as she blubbed her way through one of the most toe-curling Oscar acceptance speeches in history in 1999, not to mention the Heidi plaits and saggy vest Goth combo she wore for the ceremony two years later.

Right before our eyes, the glacial beauty has morphed from yummy mummy into full-blown Hollywood hottie – very unusual for an actress on the wrong side of 30.

Naturally, Gwyneth has been telling everyone who cares to listen, and believe me I am all ears, that her new look is down to more than just her macrobiotic, organic diet.

Mrs Martin gives much of the credit for her stunning new look to her personal trainer Tracy Anderson, who helps clients get “sexy definition”. I am not entirely sure what that is, but I would like two portions, please.

I am sure Gwyneth’s daily workout with the muscle mistress herself, Madonna, last week also helped her squeeze into those unforgiving numbers, though.

Thanks to Madonna’s brave decision not to knock through from her multi-million pound Georgian mansion into her private gym next door, we got to witness their daily workout results ourselves via picture after picture in the gossip columns.

The whole thing has got me pondering on whether I would have a better body if I could work out with Madonna, too. After all, all the best personal trainers tell you that you will achieve better results if you train with a friend.

If training with the Queen of Pop would give me pins like Gwyn’s and the nerve to wear a dress which resembles a high thread count doily, then grab me a big bottle of Evian and point me in the direction of Belgravia.

They might have been sweaty and a little bit greasy-looking around the old hair line, and granted they did have a swarm of paparazzi photographers all up in their faces, but they still looked like they were having a good old time (that’s endorphins for you, I suppose).

Sadly, the chances of Madonna calling me up for a Pilates session are about as likely as Matthew McConaughey inviting me to go surfing with him in Malibu.

But I think I have an alternative. When I am gasping for breath and contemplating leaping off the cross trainer with 15 minutes still to go, I will simply refer to my new exercise mantra – WWMD.

What would Madonna do?