I’m big-boned, ok?!?!?
In preparation for the Purposeful Walk I recently re-joined my Gold’s Gym. I used to be pretty good about working out, visiting the gym after work 3 times a week or so. School and being temporarily jobless curtailed my sweatiness and therefore led to there being more of me to love.
As part of the welcome package, my gym has a free consultation with a trainer to give you an idea of where you stand health-wise and what you should focus on, blah, blah, blah. Now, when I think “trainer” a vision of a tall, ripped, blue-eyed hottie comes to mind, a la James Marsden. I did not get James Marsden. I got miniature Carlos Mencia, but without the funny.
My saintly mother, a fiesty Latina firecracker, is 4’11 on a good day. Her height (or lack thereof) was blamed on her diminutive daddy. Hence, it was instilled upon me the importance of height when choosing a mating partner. Mom, grandma, two aunts and an uncle have all made it clear that I must bring in tall genes to the family. Any man that is shorter than me is instantly turned into mental fodder for jokes to be shared with friends.
As Stumpy McMidget was introduced to me as my consultant, I had to fight a chuckle. I’m 5’4 in bare feet and always wear heels of 1 1/2 to 2 in., so I was flirting w/ 5’6 when my mini-trainer approached me. He didn’t clear my boobs. Had I not worn heels, he might have met my shoulder. Honestly, don’t you have to meet a height requirement to use some of the equipment?
After the “interview” portion of the consult where we discuss my daily life, we went into an “exam room” (mind out of gutter) of sorts for the measurement portion. I hopped up on a scale and saw a number that was depressing, but not wholly unexpected. After getting some calculations based on my height, weight and age, Shrimpy proclaimed me obese. (while sitting on a exam table he crawled upon, as to be something resembling eye level with me)
Now, I am quite aware that I am not in shape. I can see that everyday, however, obese?!?!? Does the Wee Wittle Workout Wunderkind not realize that the two lovely lady lumps that he can barely reach account for a good 10% of my weight? Not to mention, in my mommie’s quest for tall genes she married into a DNA pool of very thick bones. I could weigh 100 lbs. and still have child-bearing hips.
After proclaiming me obese, Stumpy then began the pep talk portion of the consult, where he assured me that I was still young and therefore could bounce back from the brink, since y’know I’m one Twinkie away from being one of those news stories where the person gets carted to the hospital on a flatbed truck after having a wall cut out since they’re too fat to fit through the door.
Once on the gym floor, the Eighth Dwarf guided me through some workouts and ended our session by telling my I should invest in a pricey personal trainer since he can tell that I’m the type of gal that will get confused by the equipment and quit trying. Ummm…newsflash Chihuahua on Steroids: I went to the gym for a year without any problem and managed not to kill myself or others using your “complicated” machinery.
I should have sat on him when I had the chance.