Sunday, February 6, 2011

I'm not taking no calls not because I'll be dancing, rather, I'll be laying on a heating pad...

I never thought it would come to this. I always thought I was above the influence, I stood strong by my principles, why pay for something I can do for free...why would I want to subject myself to something that went against everything I believe in. Last Tuesday I shunned my principles, I was distracted by the shiny machines, the sweet talking manager, the pool, the classrooms, and the personal trainer who promised to help me reach all my goals. I never meant to do it, but, next thing I know, I'm handing my credit card over and signing on the dotted line--I did it, I joined a gym. Not just any gym, oh no, I wont go half ass, it is the epiphany of all gyms, the type gym you envision muscle heads, overly tanned spandex wearing women, protein shakes lined in conveniently placed refrigerators...I signed my life and fate over to Gold's Gym.

My decision was not easy, last anyone had heard from me was my 2 mile walk and 5 hour Dance Central-a-thon. What no one knew was the week that followed, filled with pain relievers, muscle relaxers, and a heating pad. I didn't realize it at the time, but, my kick ass 5 star awesomeness also left me with a completely pulled out back. I was filled with shame, I hurt my back playing a video game, how in the hell do you explain that with any dignity? I wasn't rescuing orphans from a burning building, I wasn't helping a friend move into a new place, I hadn't been training for the Olympics, no, instead, I was “Evacuating the Dance Floor” and put too much lean and power stepping into my dance moves. Going to work was painful, moving, was painful, in fact, laying on a heating pad, was painful. I realized I was in way over my head on this weight loss thing...I wasn't going to be successful on my own (without seriously hurting myself), I needed someone who was going to help me do things the right way, so, I contacted the gym.....after my doctor.

The weight loss challenge through my district started on Tuesday as well-I had to submit my height, weight, and blood pressure. After getting the same stats from my team members, I realized I outweighed all of them by a large margin, instead of slitting my wrists, I cried a little, then convinced myself that I have the winning advantage. With this challenge promising $500 to the top winner, I'm not playing around anymore, it's time to get it done. Hence, what helped seal my fate with Gold's Gym.

I met with my trainer the minute I walked in. Her introduction was short and sweet, gave me a tour of the gym and showed me various exercises that she would like to focus on to help me shed the weight, tone up, and lead a healthier life. In 30 minutes, she had become someone I knew I was going to hate to love. Carolyn took my weight, BMI, fat content, measurements and what I thought was everything she needed. I held back tears when she told me my fat content was 49%, meaning, my body is made up of almost half fat, I'm like a cheap rack of lamb, and a lot less tasty, even with mint jelly. When I told her I would like to lose 75-100 pounds, she started setting my “goals”, which I am to accomplish in 3 month intervals. To help track my weight loss, give me a more visual idea, she said she needed to take before and after pictures. We have all seen those pictures, the pasty brunette chubby girl who took some diet pills and magically became a blond, tan, six pack baring, white teeth flashing, and string bikini wearing model. We can all argue that those pictures have been photoshopped to hell, but, what they don't portray is how it actually feels to take those before pictures. I wanted to cry, in fact, I did, but, was able to hold it together as she asked me to face forward, turn to the side, then face the wall-it was like taking mugshots, my crime...super-sizing. Pictures don't lie, they are cruel, unforgiving, and heartbreaking. They also made me question my work out attire, maybe a lime green tank isn't the best choice for someone who would rather blend in, not stand out as the fatty on the elliptical. Those pictures are stored on my phone, and when I have a weak moment, I can quickly go through my album and remember the 'before' and how I want my 'after' to be as shocking as Hydroxycut ads, but, without the photoshop.

I have been to the gym every day since....I should mention on Wednesday when I woke up, I thought my legs were going to buckle under my weight. I wondered how in the HELL I could be hurting so bad when she only made me do 10 squats and 10 lunges...then I remembered this was coming from someone who pulled out their back playing a video game. I'm out of shape, any physical activity that requires me to do something other than push a shopping cart, stroller, or pay a girl scout for her delicious cookies, was going to hurt. The last thing I wanted to do was go to the gym, but, I knew I had to...not only was I paying for it, but, what kind of a sissy am I if I don't go to the gym the day after I signed up for it. I ran into my trainer when I walked in, she was so thrilled to see me, I told her I was in pain, she informed me that “being sore is your body's way of saying thank you!” In that case, my body owes me flowers, a romantic dinner date, and season tickets to the symphony. She led me over the the treadmill, put the incline up to 10, set the speed to 3.0, and smiled as she said “how does that feel?” Honestly, it feels like I am being tortured, like my legs are about to give me their two week notice but actually leave earlier claiming unused vacation hours, like I should have said goodbye to my children and promised to haunt Michael if he ever dates again proceeding my unfortunate death by treadmill. Instead, I smile and say “that feels great!” I lied, I lied so badly I made Enron executives looks like Jesus loving, family oriented, good natured business men. I want to hate her, I want to tell her she sucks and that I can lose the weight on my own, that I don't need her to torture me, to tell me that everything I eat is crap (she actually told me that), I don't need her to push me, but, I do, I need her to do all of the above, so, I'm paying her a lot of money to do so.

Aside from the gym, I've adjusted my eating habits, I even bought the powdered protein shake mix—which tastes terrible, I just pretend it's really thick tequilla and take it back like a champ. I've been eating more vegetables and fruits, less carbs, more proteins, and a heck of a lot of water. I know that I'm not perfect and know there will be days I will cave and eat something that isn't on my approved diet list, but will do it in moderation. I have sworn off girl scout cookies and hunting for their little stands in front of Wal Mart, Randals, HEB, CVS, my driveway, etc. Michael bought me a new ipod and fancy little arm band ipod holder I can rock at the gym, I'm guessing my old ipod was cramping my style. I have the jams, I have the stretchy pants, I have the new shoes, I have the super cool head bands that keep my hair pulled back, and I have a gym membership with a personal trainer. I can still fail at this, it doesn't take much...80% of all people who set out to lose weight will fail, but, there is still that 20% who succeed, and damnit, I plan on being the minority.

Until Next Time,


  1. Good for you. Do you have a good friend who always had a drop-dead body from the time you met, age 14, and still has that same, tone body, but now at 58 (her birthday is in Sept.)and tells you that the gym is her addiction??? I love to hate her!! She's been after me to join Her Gym and I will, next month. I told her that March would probably be a good time to join since all the New Year Resolutioners have lost interest and moved on to their previous lives. She's been after me and told me she wants to make sure we grow old together..ah, shut up!!! LOL So after I get back from my FAB vaca in Vegas (use extreme sarcasm with that last statement), I shall venture down N. Mesa and check out the gym, with the intent that I'm doing this for my health and the fact I want to live long enough to dance at my grandchildren's wedding and yes, grow old my my friend and all the other important folks in my life.

    Keep add it, honey. Someday we'll get those ke-wel outfits from Baba!!!


    Oh Lord, my Vert. word is: poota!!!

  2. Glad to hear you are doing good. I always say that moderations is the key and I try to do that but it doesn't always work. Good for you though.