If you want to know my mental state all you have to do is look at my body. When I’m in control of my life my body looks good; when I’ve lost my mind fat will find my stomach and ass. (Never my breasts though…proving yet again that the Boobie Fairy is a little bitchy.)
Anyway, one of those times in my life where chaos ruled was 2002.
It was an unbelievably tough year for me. I broke up with Henri on a plane ride from Italy to California (it was a long flight home,) I gave up my dream of ever becoming an actress to work at a “real” job, and my dad died.
During that five month span from hell I went from a size 3 to a size 9 because I figured I might not have a man, or a dream, or a dad, but by God I was going to have as much chocolate cake as I could possibly numb myself with.
But then things began to right themselves. Unbeknownst to me, Henri had asked my dad for his blessing for us to get engaged and Henri was there for me in every way so I could grieve. Back at work I kept getting promotions, prizes and raises, which helped me feel better about my career switch. It was time to align my body with my mind.
My trainer, Pablo, told me to walk on the treadmill and he pressed some fitness test button. The gym was packed. I don’t know if you’ve ever been to Los Angeles before, but if you haven’t just close your eyes and picture the prettiest, sexiest, most in shape person you have ever met and then multiply it by 500 people and that’s what the gym looked liked. There were lines of buff babes and ripped soap opera actors at every single piece of equipment.
And then there was out of shape me, on this treadmill, trying my best to go as fast as I could because I was going to show those pretty people I could keep up with them. I could be just as skinny! I hadn’t even eaten any breakfast in an effort to jump-start my calorie reduction. So in your face pretty people! I can keep up! Only the treadmill kept moving faster and faster. I turned to Pablo. “I see black spots.”
“What does that mean?” he asked, wondering what the hell I was talking about. “Well I always see black spots before I…”
Pass out. Yeah. I fainted on the treadmill in front of 500 super models.
When I woke up I discovered the lovely staff at the gym had moved me to a distant corner of the room and a management type person handed me a clipboard with some release thingy to sign so I wouldn’t sue them and my reward for the signature was a cup of orange juice and supreme embarrassment.
But Pablo was cool. He got me down to a reasonable size 6. And (I’m just realizing this now as I’m typing it) this year was the first time in 10 years that I went on a treadmill. Guess that epic fail left an impression, huh? 😉
Now you know mine – come on, fess up, what’s your epic fitness fail?
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