Chubby Is The New Black...

Today was the day…I reached out to my personal trainer, Craig.  We’ve been “on a break”…for a while. For a really long time...Like 6 dress sizes long time. 

We set up a time to meet and I head over to his gym on my lunch hour. I leave work and start the drive over. I’m sick to my stomach. I get winded scrubbing the toilet, how am I going to work out!? I know deep down that I am screwed and may even take my very last breath in the next 30 minutes.

I walk into the gym and head to the changing room. I start to get undressed and fold my clothes in a nice neat pile when my apple watch starts vibrating. I glance down thinking I’m getting a phone call. Nope, it’s my watch asking me if I had finished my workout!? Ok, no no no, All I did was take off my pants for god sakes!! I quickly look around for a window I can crawl out of and envision how to come up with a plan on how I will just block Craig on my phone and move to another city where he can't find me.

Instead, I slowly open the door and decide to just do it. I’m at my heaviest weight and need to get my shit together. So, out I go!

Craig is smiling at me as I walk out. Why is he smiling? He’s one of those sickos that loves to see his client’s writhering on the ground heaving in a pool of sweat. Keep in mind, they are heaving while using their full 6-pack stomachs! Jerks… Maybe if I stopped breaking up with him I would have had mine by now too.

Craig explains to me how we are going to take it easy. I feel myself relax and I breathe a sigh of relief. Which I shouldn’t have because he then points to that metal contraption machine that you see all the football players pushing across the field while grunting like enraged gorillas! Ya…THAT one! But “don’t worry Jo”…just 8 times across the room. What happened to the honeymoon period when you get back together? I’m literally dying. I’m 4 minutes into the workout and I have an Oprah
‘Ah Ha’ moment. I want to be Fat! I’m suddenly ok with it. I can make “Chubby the new Black”. Muffin tops honestly have such a bad rap.

Needless to say, I continue. We walk over to what looks like a treadmill with big red leaning pads. I get up on the machine and ask the obvious questions…Where do those go on me and where do my boobs go? Craig responds “just squeeze your boobs together and wedge them in between the red pads”. Ummm….what!? Can this get any worse? Seriously!?  I ask him to look away, this isn’t the Playboy Channel.
I finish this and move on to the other torture chambers. The workout comes to an end and I am spent. I say goodbye and hightail it out of there. I get to my car and can’t get the door open. I wrestle with the key and the door and then realize it’s not my car. It’s not even the right color!!! I'm delirious. I find my car and get in and turn the air conditioning on full blast to try and dry my hair.  

As I listen to the whir of the fan and start to catch my breath, I feel proud. Maybe I don’t have to block him or move away to hide from him. Maybe I can finally get my bod back! I’m going to focus on being more positive and have a better outlook on training…right after I down 2-3 Tylenols with my Cabernet Sauvignon tonight.

"2 to 3 glasses of wine per day, reduces your risk of giving a shit"