Friday, December 31, 2010

December 31

I've become a sort of habitual TV shopping channel viewer. It's a habit, I'm shamed to admit, that I used to give my mother three flavors of shit for (God rest her soul). I actually made fun of her because she knew all the names of the hosts/hostesses on the channel. Now I know them so it's official...I have become my mother.

So there I am, fat, dumb, and happy, sitting on the couch eating a box of Ding Dongs and drinking Diet Pepsi (less calories you know) and there before my eyes in stunning HD is a supremely fit man, surrounded by other supremely fit men and women, selling a set of exercise DVD's called P90X. I need to loose a few pounds so I think, okay, how hard could it be, right? I fell flat on my face for the sales pitch and bought it.

The day it came, I read the booklet that came with it & watched the first instructional DVD. There was a cautionary note that if you weren't in relatively good shape you probably shouldn't be using this particular program. I think there was a beginner program that was recommended but I really don't remember (because I'm over 50 & menopausal).

I should've heeded the warning. Suffice to say I thought I was going to die. The workout wasn't the piddly little 20 minutes that I expected. It was closer to an hour. I'm huffin' and puffin' in front of the TV with droplets of sweat burning my eyes looking at people who don't have an ounce of body fat cheering each other on. Not once did I hear any of 'em sayin' good job Stoopid, you can do it, keep going, hurray for you.

While I realize it's probably much better for sales to produce DVD's showing supremely fit bodies, it isn't very realistic. They could've had at lease one or two tubbies. (In retrospect they were probably worried about the legalities of having tubbies trying to do this workout and dying of a heart attack while being filmed.)

I know it sounds crazy, but as a tubbie, I couldn't keep up with the perfectly sculpted creatures staring at me from the TV. I tried. I huffed and puffed, moaned and groaned, and kept trying until finally, Praise the Lord, we were at the end of the workout. Holy shit, my arms were so weak they were shaking. Thank God I had a glass of water sitting on the counter because I don't think I could've lifted a glass out of the cupboard. You know the old saying "things could be worse"...well they were! Two days later was the worst day, every time I moved my arms I wanted to cry. Instead I swore profusely. It got a little easier each day and after about a week, I could raise my arms without shedding tears.

I'm sure I'm not the only chub who fell for the sales pitch. There's probably quite a few equally pea brained fellow tubbers who saw and bought. Doesn't make me feel any less of a schmuck though...it's the stoopidist thing.