Size zero is not fat people. I don't care how you slice it, if my pant size doesn't even register on the Richter scale there is no possible way you can convince me that I'm two ounces away from a cardiac. Before you accuse me of being a skinny bitch let me postface my intro by saying that I'm not trying to manifest someone's personal value in their body fat ratio. I'm taking out my feminine wrath on a fitness giant that needs a little good old fashioned hell-raising.
This not-so-fairy tale begins with a joint venture into a little physical fitness during the office lunch hour. You see, E and I value the benefits of exercise. The boost to your libido being top on that list. So, I decided to join the gym at which she holds a membership and commence said activities. One of the perks of joining is the fitness examination where a personal trainer will evaluate your current state of bodily health, and give you a few pointers on what you could work on. Enter dirty sales tactics.
I walk in to my 24 Hour Fitness of choice five minutes prior to the scheduled evaluation, true to my ever-so-prompt fashion. I am treated rudely as usual by the local sales rep, and wait around for my trainer. She pops me into a side-room and begins to take down my information. What are my goals? Well, nothing really, perhaps a little endurance. Focus? Hm. Maybe my core, I suppose. That's usually something trainers like to hear. Weight loss goals? Well, no, I'd rather not be Sally Stick, thank you very much. I'm pleased with my current physique. At that last, I earned myself a raised eyebrow and sardonic smile. We proceed to the calipers. Oh, the calipers. I have several choice skin flaps pinched and measured, tallied up, and marked down. We walk over to the chart and find my age, and follow it down to my newly calculated number. The chart progression begins at Malnourished, Athletic, Fit, Acceptable, Fat, and finishes off with Obese. Her finger continues to slide down the chart, hovering right between Acceptable and Fat. Seriously? Now, I'm no skinny minnie. I'm a thin girl by nature (or by hyperthyroidism, take your pick), and I pride myself on all the slight cushion I've earned by serious effort (cheesecake, chips and salsa, with a side order of three cannoli come to mind...)
The trainer proceeds to inform me that 30% of my body is fat. Really? Now correct my third grade health, but if 70% of the human body is water, wouldn't 30% fat make me nothing but a wiggling mass of jello? She told me this is very concerning given my height and age. My measurements were then taken, also deemed "concerning". I became more and more confused. How can this be? I run 15 miles a week, and never eat fast food. Now I don't diet, but I'm no heifer either. So, finally we head over to the scale. I hop all of my 5'4" post-lunch little self on it, and see that though I've gained a few this month, I'm still chillin at a buck twenty five. Pleased as punch myself, my bubble is abruptly popped with a scathing "Are you satisfied with that?" Why, yes, ma'am I am! Have you felt my steely abs yet? Of course not. After another half hour of pointing out my every weakness (apparently 70% of my body) I am corralled back into the room to hear my suggested personal training packages. Of course I'll need at least three months of sessions, knocking me back around two grand. Commence laughter.
Ahh, now I see! This is nothing but a weak sham to play my innate-feminine body issues into a quick sale. Do I have my card ready? Of course not! Who thinks to bring a credit card to the gym? Well, can I swing back by in an hour and handle this? Why, of course! (not) Several inflamed phone calls to 24 Hour Fitness corporate solve nothing, surprise surprise. I won't discontinue my membership, but I most certainly will not be swindled either. So ladies, please, proceed with caution while being ill-advised by fitness personnel. Odds are, you don't need personalized training. Getting a couple of hours of focused activity each week will certainly be beneficial in and of itself. Now back off, gym people, and let me run around in peace. Good thing I have enough vanity self-confidence to disbelieve the nay-sayers.
Stay strong sistahs! More cushion for the pushin'
-B
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