Happy New You! I’ll just be the old me…

By Judy Forney

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Around the first of December the gym near our place put this message up on their sign board:

NEW YEAR NEW BODY
NEW BODY NEW YEAR

Well of course that makes sense. I’d bet a gazillion bucks that promising oneself a better workout ranks at the very top of most New Year’s resolution lists. I know it’s made mine a few times in the past. As a matter of fact, just a few days before the message went up in lights, a friend and I had decided to get ourselves into better shape. She didn’t want to join a gym, though. Nope. She’d called to convince me to give the modern, “as-seen-on-TV” way fitness method a try.

“Hey Judy.”

“Hi.”

“I was calling to tell you, that I’ve got the biggest loser.”

“Oh, please. He’s not that bad. I mean, geez, you guys have been married forever and…”

“…No, you idiot, I bought the ‘Biggest Loser’ workout videos, you know, from the television show.”

“Oh. Got ya.”

Well not really. I don’t watch reality programming. Who’s reality is it anyway? Seriously, I have no problem believing those “the-truth-is-out-there-UFO’s-do-exist”-type documentaries, but wife swapping and survival shows? I’d rather watch “Gilligan’s Island” re-runs. They’re more believable. Russian subs? Sure! Space capsules in the lagoon? Why not? And what’s up with those young ladies in the “Bad Girls Club”? Their parents must be so proud…and sorely lacking in disciplinary skills. I remember my sister and I coming to blows, just once, when we were in high school. Technically, I’ve just come out from under that grounding. Anyway, I don’t know how my girlfriend talks me into stuff. Probably cause she never drops an idea once she gets it in her head.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Or maybe just funny… But we should give it a try. The sessions are only 20 minutes long, but the trainer gal is really tough and the workouts are hard.”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t mind a flatter stomach.”

“Cool. We’ll start tomorrow afternoon.”

I went to bed that night dreaming of a new career as a 40-something swimsuit model. It reminded me of an old joke. You know: Gal has three babies and after the last one is born asks doctor, “Will I ever model bikinis again?” Doc tells new mom, “Sure.” Mom says, “That’s amazing, because I’ve never been able to even wear one before!”

The next day, my girlfriend and I hooked up at her house, fed the DVD into the player and met our “personal” trainer, Jillian, for the first time. She was attractive and fit, but we’d be too soon, so we couldn’t hold that against her. Jillian explained in an upbeat, friendly, and encouraging voice how her combined cardio, strength, and stretching program would work together to give us the best bodies of our lives. Then she introduced us to her two lovely, toned assistants. Again we wouldn’t throw stones into the house where we’d soon live. Then Jillian sang out: “Let’s begin.”

That’s when my friend and I encountered our first problem. Her husband couldn’t resist teasing us. Maybe he really was that bad. Secondly, about seven-and-a-half minutes into our twenty-minute exercise routine, we found ourselves knocking up against death’s door. Thirdly, and most importantly, we discovered that our trainer was the wicked witch of the workout set! She kept yelling at us.

“Exhale…exhale…exhale!”

“Five more! Three more!”

“That knot you feel is fear leaving your body!”

Actually that last shout out was a relief. I’d been sure it was lunch about to leave my belly. Oh my God! Was I really so out of shape that twenty minutes of jumping jacks and abdominal crunches would prove fatal? I mean, I’m not a big person. I walk places. I take the stairs. That should count for something, right? Nope. As the Wicked One pointed out, you can’t just climb a few steps and expect to be fit and strong. O.K., I thought, gulping in air, I won’t hate her cause she’s beautiful. There are so many other reasons. She’s bossy, punishing, evil…

When I woke the next morning I discovered that during the night my legs had turned to lead, and I could practically hear my stomach muscles screaming. I rolled out of bed, found a phone, and called my friend.

“Hey, I’ve exercised and I can’t get up.”

“Oh, gawd. Me too!”

“I don’t think I can stand…or sit. Makes it hard to…”

“Yeah. If we were guys, it wouldn’t matter. We could just go outside.”

“Ha. That would be the only benefit. Seriously, someone’s gonna have to wheel me around on a dolly today.”

“We’ll feel better after exercising again this afternoon. Like Jillian says, we need to hang in there and get strong.”

“Well I say she’s a twisted, fiendish, masochist…”

“Three o-clock, O.K.?”

Like I said, my girlfriend doesn’t drop an idea once she’s got it. Luckily, she also travels for work and her exercise craze collided head-on, a few days later, with a trip out of town. I swear I didn’t call her office with some bogus lead. Really, I mean how disappointing to loose my workout buddy!

I’d maybe actually get my knees bending correctly again, and prevent my arms ripping away from their shoulder sockets. It did feel good to be ahead of the game, new year’s wise. Cross that first one off. I tried.

But if you’re just making a list of resolutions, and getting in shape is at the top, happy new you! I’m perfectly content with the old me. I will keep up the abdominal crunches, though.

You know, I have my modeling career to think of.

The doctor said so.