Let's Laugh at Me

Hello, my name is Aundrea Hill, and I am addicted to "The Biggest Loser."

Some of you will recall that I never watch television. (I admit to watching "American Idol" for a short time last year. It got old.) In December I went downstairs to see what Landon was doing and maybe hang out with him for a few minutes. He was channel surfing, and we stopped at "Loser." By the end of the show, I was completely, utterly, totally, incurably, and disgustingly hooked!

Here's the thing. There are all these really large, unhealthy people. They all have different issues, emotionally and psychologically, that have eventually all brought them to think that they are unworthy of anything good. And they turn to food. Bad food. And it's bad for their bodies--it makes them diabetic and makes their joints hurt and makes them fat. And then--because they don't feel good--they feel more poorly about themselves. And they turn to food. Again. And again and again and again. Until they are, like, 300 or 400 or 500 pounds. 500 pounds!!?!! So finally something kicks them in the backside and they end up a fat contestant, hoping to be called "The Biggest Loser." Most of these people would probably love the quarter-million-dollar prize, but I think they mostly just want to feel good for once in their lives.

Enter Aundrea (and a lot of America). Yup, I'm just a voyeur. A fat-people-who-are-hurting-in-many-ways voyeur.

Last night they took the contestants to the Olympic training facility in Colorado. They got to meet several athletes and nutritionists, etc. And one of the athletes stands in front of the camera just before commercial break begins and says, "OK, America. Spend this commercial break doing lunges like this."

So I say to Ashie and Lando (my Loser buddies), "Let's not be couch potatoes. That defeats the purpose. Here we go! Let's lunge!" So we spend the next 5 minutes doing lunges. And at the next commercial break we did leg lifts. Then platforms. And stretches. ANYWAY--I was a bit achy by the end, but feeling fairly cool.

Then Briana gets home from school and says, "Hey, Mom, since you'll be working the later shift now (because of my new job), let's get up in the morning and go to the gym." How can you say no to a daughter whose health you've been worrying over?

This morning Bri, Landon, and I left the house at 5:15, got to the gym by 5:30, and worked out for 30 minutes. I jogged a mile in the basketball gym, then did a mile and a half on the treadmill (interval training). After I showered and got ready, Bri took me to the bus, where I thought, "Ya know, I should walk up and down those steps to the 8th floor at least once each day."

Yeah.

I made it to the 5th floor. My lunge-aching quads were shaking, my heart was racing, my lungs were burning, and I was sucking air big time.

And I'm thinking, "If Mike can do a last-chance workout weighing 500 pounds, I should be able to walk these dang stairs!" and "Darrell made it through that quarter-mile lap on the challenge, and he's over 300 pounds. I should be able to walk up one more step."

But I can't. So I got off the stairs and caught the elevator to go up the last three floors.

I. Am. Pathetic. What a loser...