Flipping the Switch

A couple of years ago I walked in on a friend of mine watching a program I could not believe existed. I was horrified. Huge shirtless men and half-dressed women breathing heavily and sweating up a storm. They were given strange challenges that sometimes involved helmets and frequently shown enormous trays of desserts for something called "temptation." These gentle giants cried at the drop of a doughnut, not because they wanted it, but because they thought they still might want it even if they no longer wanted it because now they knew what it meant to want it and give in or not want it and move on. Or something. All I know is, I couldn't bear to watch. Fast forward to this past fall, shortly after my new love affair with the gym had begun, and presto. Or pesto...I saw that same program but with seemingly different faces and somehow more relevant testimony, and I was hooked. They were talking about calories. I know about calories! They were talking about working out. I know about working out! They were all way bigger than me, but I felt like I could relate. I wanted them to succeed. I got sucked into the drama of it all - the politics, the game-playing, the desperate need for immunity each week. I picked a favorite and then dumped him or her in one fell swoop when someone else cried harder. I cried more at this program than I think I have in my entire life. I don't know why. Why do overweight people make me cry? Well, they don't in general. But put them on a scale after they've busted their asses for a week with Jillian and Bob all up in their grill and just three small veggie sandwiches from Subway in their tummy and I watch the numbers flip on the scale through my fingers like a girl. If they've lost more than 4 pounds, I'm relieved. Between 1 and 3, I'm disappointed. Zero, I'm flabbergasted. Plus 1 or more and I reach for a Kleenex. Because they look so crestfallen. Then they reference their families. And they tried so hard. And they just don't get it. And Bob is holding his face just like I am. And Jillian's eyebrows are lowered and she shifts her weight and recrosses her arms. And you can hear a pin drop. Well you could if the dramatic music stopped for a sec. And then the sometimes pregnant, not as pregnant, then way pregnant hostess says, "Kristin. You gained a total of 2 pounds this week for a total percentage loss of well, I guess it's not a loss, is it? Can you tell us how you feel?" Then this sweet hostess starts to cry because she dropped a ton of weight a while back and of course now she's sort of pregnant looking and emotions are running high. And everybody starts crying because it really sucks to see someone who obviously worked hard get absolutely nothing in return for it. And then there's the underlying tone that this poor soul will now fall below the dreaded yellow line and likely be up for elimination in the next hour of the program. But even in the midst of all this, I am more impressed with Kristin than ever. Wiping my tears, I think, hey, that chick stood on the scale for at least 7 minutes while all this went down and she weighs 302 pounds right now. She's in a purple jog bra the size of a mattress pad, wearing spandex shorts stretched to the nines and the thing is, she started at 349 pounds. She's wearing hoop earrings, her hair is styled nicely and she's made several key alliances in the house that could save her from the ultimate demise. She's lost weight; I like her chances even if she gets kicked off because you can see it in her eyes that the switch has flipped. Maybe that's what gets me about this show. People flipping the switch. Making a conscious effort to change themselves completely. Not just lose a few pounds and gain it back. But to literally lose a whole person in a lot of ways. That's a tremendous sacrifice. All the ways you used to see yourself and assume how others saw you are stripped away. It's liberating. It's compelling. Change your body type and see what happens. I don't have that option without maybe a boob job and some serious weightlifting, so I marvel at those who pull it off. I wonder too, I'm not gonna lie, how someone can get to 350+ pounds in the first place and not be in the NFL or WWF. I'm just talking about maybe your bus driver or that woman at the grocery store who's always testing the melons from her motorized cart. I'm not being mean, I'm being honest. I think it takes a very long time and a series of unfortunate events to get to that point, but once you're there, and I've seen it on TV, you can get out of it in a heartbeat. Well maybe 160 of em per minute for 12 solid episodes, but you can burn it all off is what I'm saying. You can get back to average and then some if you really want to. The colorful, XXXXXL t-shirted contestants on Biggest Loser are the walking, then running, then sprinting, then cycling, swimming, hiking, jumping, iron pumping proof of that. They're getting back to who they really are, and I can no longer look away. It's on again tonight. Someone pass me the Kleenex.

5 More

Ah, the gym. I go because I want to lose a little weight, stay fit and live forever. It's rewarding. It is also simultaneously boring, inspiring and annoying. Where else can you get all those things? Sometimes the movies but at least you get popcorn. I'm bored at the gym because I tend to do the same thing for fear of losing ground somehow by leaving something out or trying something different. I also try to look like everybody else around me - casual, collected, I know how this machine works. When all I really want to do is grab a 15 and a 10 and start swinging my arms really fast at the same time while trying to run straight ahead on a treadmill. "Yeah, it's a new balance drill." Pretty soon I'd see the guy who looks like a Russian trapeze artist (4' 11", fire hydrant frame, negative body fat, zero personality) grab a 30 and a 25 and give it a whirl. He'd end up in the parking lot, a little to the left. I see the same faces every day, and that sounds boring, but it's inspiring because I feel a camaraderie with these strangers you can't get on, say, the subway. Maybe at Subway (eat fresh!). We're all pushing ourselves to be better or at least stay the same in a good way. When I see thin black man with headband and iPod strain through his umpteenth set of crazy upside down leg presses, I think, man that guy could kick over a bus. And I wonder a little if he's training for that. I see older guy with silver hair and silver glasses and same blue t-shirt doing lat pull downs in his borderline short shorts and pray he doesn't do inner thighs next. I see impossibly cut mid-30's lady teeth-clenching her way through chin-ups in tandem with her 20-something guy friend and I imagine the date is going well. I hope they grab a Mich Ultra after. I see the same trainers there every night with their plebes, escorting them from machine to machine, doling out seemingly impossible assignments like "5 more" and "5 more" oh, and "5 more." And I sympathize with the newbies cuz I was there once. I thought 5 more would kill me, but now I find myself saying it. Which brings me to the annoying part. Sometimes I get on my own nerves at the gym with all the self talk and push push push. Who do I think I am? Do I know who I'm talkin' to? Getting annoyed with myself makes me more susceptible to others' annoyances. Like super tall thin lady who lays claim to a machine she may or may not want to use by laying down in front of it and doing some other exercises for a while. She claims entire rows of lockers in similar fashion while changing, even though she doesn't trust the lockerroom to secure her bag. She carries it with her, presumably to mark in advance certain machines she would like to prevent others from using. Her workout is enriched, I believe, by sabotaging the success of others. If you can't get any thinner, fatten up those around you. I found lanky, uncoordinated, dark-haired bearded douchebag equally annoying (didn't think it was possible) yesterday when he practically peed on the sit-up bench to own it for the next 17 minutes. How do you tolerate the sit-up bench for any longer than 2 minutes? I've never seen anyone prep for sit-ups like this guy. He all but prayed to Allah and smoked a joint before finally wrapping his furry calves around the supports and executing the worst six sit-ups I've ever seen in my life. So yeah, I get a little annoyed when I'm on a mission that is derailed by superiority or ignorance, but fortunately my gym is low on both. For the most part, it's me and my strange friends exchanging social graces ("You using this?" "I got another set." "That's my towel.") as we dance through another night of keeping our bodies in check. I think I'll stick it out.