Day 5: Thigh Maneuvering and Camel Toe

Biggest Loser Competition Update: Day 5

So I am sitting in a meeting on Friday down in the auditorium with the entire work management department, around 30-40 people. We are all lined up in rows facing the presentation screen waiting for the boss to start giving his update, chatting with each other, discussing projects, bitching about vendors…you know, the usual stuff. Suddenly it hits me: Oh…my…god. Do I really have the biggest butt in this entire room? I scan up and down the rows assessing my coworkers. Okay, I see a couple of gals with breeder hips, a handful of guys with the Pabst Blue Ribbon gut, even a triple chin or two. But the stark truth hits me like a cherry fruit pie. I am the only one with “all of the above.”

OH, THE HUMANITY!

The auditorium chairs are highly uncomfortable. Did anyone ever consider that three dozen Lazy Boy recliners might go a long way toward attentiveness? Imagine how fun department meetings would become if the room was set up like a rich person’s media room. For most of the meeting I sat with my notepad shielding my stomach (the office version of “pillow syndrome”). I was painfully aware of how far my back was ‘shrooming over my jeans and I silently thanked whatever Higher Power I could invent for having the critical thinking skills to sit in the back row. At one point about halfway through the meeting, I attempted to do the Fat Girl Leg Crossing Maneuver. I had to use all of my energy in a quick motion so as to ensure that Right Thigh would make it far enough over Left Thigh to stay put. Because as we Amazons all know, there is nothing more embarrassing than not quite making it….when Right Thigh doesn’t have enough momentum, so it springs back like a freakin’ slingshot to the floor and you have to try again (maybe shift just a little more to the side of the left cheek and FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, ACT CASUAL!). Fortunately I have mastered the art of The Fat Girl Leg Crossing Maneuver and Right Leg stayed in place (kind of). It mostly didn’t move because I was using every last ounce of energy in my body to hold it there, at least for a few minutes until I could pretend that I got tired of being in that position and return to center.

So later yesterday afternoon I went to the baby shower of a co-worker. I KNEW there would be food, so all day I reminded myself that the plan is to go for the healthy stuff…no doubt there will be a veggie tray, maybe some cold cuts (go for the turkey!), skip the cheese and sweets. And two of my three Biggest Loser teammates will be there…we’ll look out for one another, right? Working against me was the fact that I had been living on asparagus, sour pears, and bananas for the past 4 days and frankly speaking, was badly craving something really, really bad for me.

Sooooo…the plan kinda fell through.

One of my Biggest Loser teammates Laura hosted the party and she provided a wonderful buffet of things that I couldn’t POSSIBLY be expected to deny myself. I mean, right there at the front of the line was a big bowl of crunchy Cheetos. Do you have ANY idea what Cheetos do to me? Last weekend I had a paranormal investigation at a friend’s house (yes, I am a ghost hunter, www.campbellpi.org, shameless plug). I was reviewing my recordings a few days ago and wanted to slap myself, I was so disgusted. All I could hear for the first 20 minutes was me chewing and crunching frikkin’ CHEETOS! They are my crack, my heroin, my cocaína. Important paranormal evidence tainted by orange crunchy cheesy crystal meth.

This just proves why diets and deprivation do not work. I started salivating coming up the driveway because I knew Laura would not disappoint, and I was right. The bean dip was divine and called to me as soon as I got in line for the trough.

There was also cake and ham and egg rolls and….I can’t even go on, it’s making me hungry. The plan further deteriorated after another BL teammate Stacy admitted that the company had provided an endless supply of food and chocolate all week as she worked overtime on some inventory issues. That meant I probably wouldn’t blow the weigh-in all by myself, pressure is OFF! I mean, okay, yes…I already had my plate filled with two day’s worth of fat and bad carbs at that point, but I’m just saying I wouldn’t have gone back for another 3000 calories if she hadn’t said anything. Laura supplied most of the food so I blame her for my crash as well. So by this astounding logic, if for some reason I gain weight and thereby ruin any chances at a week-1 win, it will be Stacy and Laura’s fault. Clearly.

In my defense, I did attempt to make up for it this morning at the gym. I was on the treadmill by 8:30 and even managed to increase my interval speed to 4.2/2.9 MPH. WHOOT! At this rate, I will catch up with the 80-year-olds by the end of the competition.  About 15 minutes into the workout a middle-aged woman got on the treadmill to my left. She looked to be in her mid 50’s and other than the fact that she was sporting a totally inappropriate pair of 70’s camel-toe shorts, she seemed pretty normal. After she was going for a while, I sneaked a peek over to do the compare. She was doing a pretty brisk walk….at a mere 3.9 MPH. ZING! That’s RIGHT, people…I was FLYING!

After my workout was done, I got off my treadmill and walked behind the slow poke to get some paper towels and cleaner so I could sanitize the machinery. The rule is, you wipe down your equipment when you are done, this is what the Y staff demands. Some people violate this rule but I do not break the social contract…unlike oily teenage boys who apparently think that their smelly athletic juices are desirable when left glistening on the seat of the leg press. And while I am on the topic of social contracts, can the naked locker room women PLEASE put a towel on the bench when you sit down after showering? Nothing disgusts me more than the thought that I might be touching the residue of your butt grease. I accept the fact that you walk around nude in front of everyone, chatting with your naked friends sans towel (which doesn’t make sense to me, because you are actually CARRYING the towel, but okay…). I accept the fact that you are going to sit next to me sans clothing after your shower with your sock-tits resting on your thighs and your wet ass spread across the bench. All I ASK is that you put a towel under said ass. Thank you for your cooperation.

Where was I? Oh yeah, I walked behind the slow woman with camel toe doing a mere 3.9 MPH on the treadmill. That’s when I noticed that she was wearing leg braces. Yes, that’s right. Leg...Braces...Plural. On each calf was a hard plastic calf-shaped form running from ankle to knee.

Yeah. I was flying. A full 3/10 MPH faster than the woman who survived Polio. Crikey.