Surviving Fitness

It’s an awful thing to turn forty.

It’s even worse to turn forty-one. And the days just keep marching on. So what am I going to do about it? Well, quite frankly, nothing. However, more disconcerting than my age is my body. It’s not cooperating. It’s like all my hormones and fat cells decided to form a solid alliance. They’ve jelled up somewhere between year thirty-five and today and nothing budges anymore. I used to run marathons. I used to be able to see my toes when I looked down in the shower. I don’t admit any of that in public because anyone’s first natural response would be “Wow. Just look at her NOW. She didn’t just let herself go – she pushed herself off the cliff!”

It’s true. I now officially qualify as obese. I am 5′3″ and over 180 lbs. I am so uncomfortable inside this skin of mine it feels like I am trapped in a bad nightmare. This isn’t me. The real me is sinking fast in a quicksand of lard and apathy. I’m reaching out one last frantic time – begging to be saved before the big five-oh takes me under. This is it! It’s time for a miracle!

Unfortunately, I have to make the miracle happen. God can’t help those who wont help themselves.

So, I took the first step today. I visited a new fitness place close to my home. It opened up this past winter. It is one of those really intense “military-style” personal training camps. You pay a large sum of money up front – but in return get a 5-day-a-week one hour killer workout (which “only” comes out to be about $18 an hour for your semi-personal trainer). I thought this couldn’t be half bad. In fact, it sounds like just what I need; someone to push me to my limits and keep me motivated every day. Someone to keep me safe and teach me how to operate dangerous equipment. Like jumpropes and medicine balls. Certainly something to check out.

My bus route had a stop right on the way home. How convenient is that!? It must be a sign. So, I got off the bus, marched bravely up to the door, and grabbed the handle. The door wouldn’t budge. It was 3:00 PM, and locked. The hours of the place printed neatly on the door stated “5 am to 9 PM – Seeking New Recruits!” Ok, what gives? I dial the number printed on the door, and I get a chipper young man. However, he is at a different location. He explains that the next class at my location is at 4:30 and if I will just wait there a trainer will be around in an hour to give me more information.

Sigh. Ok. There isn’t another bus for an hour anyway. It is a beautiful sunny day and I spy a picnic table nearby where I can sit and read. Nearly an hour later, I notice a blonde woman in tight spandex shorts and a tiny T-shirt which accentuates her abdominal muscles exiting a red convertible. Bingo. I waddle over and muster an up-beat tone “Hi! Are you the personal trainer here?” She gives me a suspicious all-inclusive look – I realize in miliseconds she had my weight, height, body-fat percentage and social sercurity number all tucked handily into her brain and then filed under the “hopeless case” category. However, she managed a toothy grin and let me into the place. I stepped into ‘Desert Storm’! Army posters of a menacing Uncle Sam pointed down at me. Khaki green camoflauge netting stuff was hanging from the ceiling. Giant fans were spray painted to match. Photos of military heros doing physically impossible deeds graced the walls. I’d never been to a ”theme spa” before. What was the protocol here? I was just registering that there was actual exercize equipment and weight machines nestled into the base camp when a big sigh brought me back to US soil again. Trainer Girl thrust me a brochure and went into the shpiel [I was getting the abridged version].

Each hour-long session consists of 4-6 persons, although they could allow up to 8. You pay in advacne for 6 weeks at a time. The price was listed in the brochure [equal to over 3 of my car payments]. If I miss a session, I don’t get makeups. I looked at the schedule hopefully and inquired about the 3:30 time (the one that would actually work for me). Nope. They have to have at least 3 more people sign up for that class time to be opened up.

Her: overly cheery and rushed- “So would you like to go on a waiting list?”

Me: “Well, actually, I would like to start soon. I’m feeling very motivated right now, and I don’t want to lose the momentum…”

Her: “There are two ladies in my 5 am class who have not re-enlisted yet [yes, she just said 're-enlisted'!] so if one of them doesn’t, then you can have her space”

Me: “Five a.m.!? Wow. That’s really too extreme for me. What about your 6 am class?”

Her: “It’s full. We already have 6 in that one”

Me: “But, I thought that you can go up to 8″

Her: “But we don’t like to.” [read: "at least not for YOU, fat-girl"]

Me: “ok..well, what if I started at the earlier time – could I switch over to the 3:30 if you get some more people?”

Her: “Yes. But there’s no guarantees”

Me: “Can you tell me about your program a little?”

Her: Pointedly looking at watch – “It’s very intensive. For the first five days you will wear a 20 pound backpack while you workout. You must wear it for five consecutive days, so if you miss a day, you have to wear it another full week. It adds an additional twenty more pounds for you to carry around” [giving me that whithering look again - does she think I also can't do math?], “so you can experience what it would be like to be 20 more pounds heavier” [great - just what I need]. “It will make you very sick. Everyone vomits. It’s important to know that so you don’t freak out. You will also be in pain every single day of your experience here. The pain never leaves, but your tolerance for it increases after several weeks.”

My face must have gone a bit pale by this point

“Hey, I’m not trying to scare you off or anything [yeah, right!] but you need to know the reality of what you are getting into. This is not ‘fun’.”

Me with thought Balloon overhead:…When exactly did I give the impression I expected a party?!?

So, there you have it. According to Bambi Rambo, she personally ensures each recruit receives a near-death experience at least once a day. True to their Boot-Camp logos and theme, they guarantee you will get the authentic military approach; providing a “living hell” induction to fitness.

At least it’s Truth in Advertising.

Let’s see…my other options are…?!

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Surviving - HK