Romance:From Fat To Fatale(5)

And there were side effects too. Plenty of side effects.

He stared at me and took off those glasses. Set them down on his desk. You're too heavy, he said. Like I didn't know. You're carrying the fat of half a dozen regular people. Half a dozen? That sounded unkind. You eat junk. OK. So I have a sweet tooth. Your body's in bad shape from whichever perspective you wanted to use. Gee, thanks a bunch, Mr Motivator. Underneath all that extra weight though, you could be a really pretty gal. Maybe it was time for him to put the glasses back on. I mean it, he said. The extra weight hides all your features. You could be a man hiding underneath all those layers of fat. Hey!! Hold up there. And this was after he'd given me a complete physical!! You just need to lose weight, he said. A lot of weight. Take some exercise. Eat something more nutritious than cakes and fries. Start respecting the miracle of the human body.

He said he'd give me a list of vitamin supplements to take and the number of a nutritionist off-campus who would get me on the right track. And if I had any problems, I could come back and see him any time. It was more professionally entertaining to handle a case like mine than the regular fare of STDs that made up his average day on campus. Maybe my 'accident' with the laptop case had slowed down trade for the doc that week. It was certainly satisfying to feel that I'd done some good in the world. The Lord - as my crazy sister often liked to quote - surely moved in mysterious ways.

Now before we get all totally fat-free obsessive and borderline lettuce-n-granola crazy about losing weight and getting into better shape, I thought I'd better get a second opinion. No point hitting some extreme ice-cream-and-soda-free eating regime just because a crazy, old, dentally-challenged medico thinks he's the world's best leading authority on health. I mean it. I happen to be one of those happy people who enjoy their food. A lot. If I'd wanted to starve myself and live a life of complete denial, I would've taken holy orders and entered the convent or maybe joined the Peace Corps. So where would you go to check out your health and get some positive news on your fitness potential? That's right! The local gym, whichis a convenient neighbourhood temple to the ideals of health and the body beautiful.

I was really curious so I made an appointment right away for an assessment with one of the local health clubs. They're always pleased to see another potential victim/subscriber so they can sign you up and welcome you to the ranks of the fat-free faithful. Hey. Wait a second. I'm curious about something. Here I am, baring my soul and sharing my innermost thoughts with you and we haven't even given you a chance to get a word in edgeways! So let me ask you something for a change.

Do you have a gym membership? Do you actually use it? I mean - having signed up for the benefits and privileges, do you actually go to the gym and get some value for the bucks you sink into the place every month?

I'm asking because most people join the gym the same way they buy diet books. You join up, you buy the book - then, well, nothing.

It's about habits. You know exactly what I'm talking about. All those good intentions that evaporate by the end of the week. We know deep down that we all need to do some exercise. Eat differently. Get in shape. But it usually involves a change in habits so - well, the gym membership and the diet books don't make any difference, do they? And that's because you don't make real use of them. They're more like some talisman you buy at the fairground from the crazy fortune teller to ward off the evils of blubber.

Cute but not very effective. OK. Thanks for answering. Now where were we? Oh, yes. The gym.





Chapter 4:


At the temple of the body beautiful





So I squeezed myself into what I thought would be a loose-fitting pair of track pants, hauled on a tee shirt - the ones my balloon brother likes to call circus

tent size - and set off for the gym. To tell you the truth I thought those gym pants were not going to survive the short walk and let's just agree right here not to discuss the chafing. And certainly not in detail. Now maybe it's my imagination but I've always had the impression that people my size weren't exactly welcome in the local sweat shops. You go there, you pay your money and you expect to see lean, chiselled bodies and rippling muscle - not an albino bowling ball on legs who looks like they're the same size in every direction. I guess from the gym owner's perspective, we look bad for business.

We're not a good advert for their establishments. We remind people too much about how they don't want to look. So you almost expect to be shut away in a dimly lit corner where normal folk wouldn't have to be shocked and appalled by our bulging rolls of potentially contagious flabbiness. But the vitamin-popping popsicles on reception were all smiles and handshakes, pumped up on wheat grass and caffeine-free enthusiasm, the perfect representation of the gym's ideal of bristling, bushy-tailed health. Maybe they were bred specially for the job. Maybe it was just a facade. There must have been some sort of private little competition going on behind the counter because the immaculately coiffed young man who stepped forward to escort me to an empty cubicle for registration looked exactly like someone who'd just lost an important round in the game.

Ricky had much better skin than I did. Ricky had much better hair than I did. And Ricky's beautiful, subtle make-up was in a different league to anything I'd ever achieved with mascara and foundation. Damn! He was only one short sashay away from the major league catwalk. He was trying to smile as he sat down and shuffled his registration forms but it was obvious that he'd drawn the short straw and got me - female, heavy h-e-a-v-y and cursed with a complete lack of grace, taste and style. Yes, it was a hot day and I was perspiring a little so I thought he actually looked a little nauseous too but that might've been my imagination. He was smiling with those perfectly capped teeth and I thought he was imagining exactly how he was going to wreak some sweet, twisted revenge upon his buffed and tanned colleagues. I wondered if it involved changing the voltage on one of their personal relaxation appliances but that was pure speculation on my part.