Kristin Williams Balla

So… last month I joined LAF (LA Fitness) and innocently headed over there for my “Fitness Assessment.” As I approached the exquisitely buff Mr. T, I noted that he was blatantly eying me up and down, rapidly concluding that I must be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He thought he had me pegged as a fat, middle-aged soccer mom, and he assumed that I was wasting his time. (I just know these things).

Mr. T acted like he didn’t know why he had an appointment with me. And at first, I wasn’t sure why I did either! Originally I had taken the term “Fitness Assessment” at face value. It didn’t take long to figure out that it is actually a not-so-secret code phrase for “sell everyone personal trainer services!”

I sat down at his desk. I smiled beatifically at him. He yawned widely, making no attempt to hide his disinterest. Big mistake Mr. T. Kristin is now going to win you over even if it kills her in the process!

I filled out a form (I am especially good at that – probably even better than Mr. T). He asked me to stand up and hold at arms-length this little Sci-Fi device that would tell me – in no uncertain terms – my body fat index. Like that is something I really, really wanted to know! I am surprised that screeching alarms did not go off for all to hear. Public Mortification Therapy. He read the number aloud, stating the obvious, “48.8% BMI is not ideal.” I looked him straight in the eye, smiled coyly, and asked, “Ya think?”

Mr. T asked me what my ultimate goal was in joining LAF. I told him that I want to feel better, have less pain (from my Fibromyalgia), sleep better, and have an outlet for stress relief. He looked at me for longer than he had at any point since we began our meeting. In silence, our eyes held for a moment longer than would be comfortable for some people. Something must have clicked inside him because the next thing he did was stand up and invite me to test out some of the exercise equipment.

He proceeded to walk me in a complete circle around a group of intimidating torture devices. I suggested that if we picked up the pace a bit, this walking in circles might qualify as part of my exercise quota for the day. I managed to get a smile out of him.

Mr T seemed to warm to my willingness to try anything, and my sense of humor in doing so. He told me about his father who had died unnecessarily young because he refused to incorporate healthy eating and exercise habits into his life. He had suffered from diabetes, heart disease, etc. Mr. T’s mother had died too young as well and for similar reasons. There was a great deal of anger in this guy – directed at people who do not take their own health seriously. Bad choices had robbed him of both his parents before he even turned 40.

Mr. T admitted that he had been working 8 days straight and did not have a day off scheduled for yet another week. He was also long overdue his lunch. While banter was clearly not his thing, he became more receptive to mine.

When my equipment introduction was complete, I actually thought to myself that a personal trainer might be very useful for me someday when I can afford one. I told Mr. T this, and he did not press me at all but suggested that when I am ready we can probably work out something that is affordable.

I told Mr. T that I would be blogging about this experience and asked him to take a picture with me, which he did without hesitation. His co-worker took a shot of us with my iPhone.

I announced to both guys that this just might become my official “before” picture. My true goal is to become the “Jared” of Skinny Cow. The blank expressions on both guy’s faces indicated that neither one had ever been introduced to the sheer joy of a Skinny Cow ice cream sandwich.

After a long, stressful day, that small 140 calorie treat of chocolatey goodness maintains my will to live. If I am capable of losing 70 pounds (emphasis on “if”), while still indulging in my nightly Skinny Cow extravagance, I believe I would make the perfect Skinny Cow spokesmodel.

I walked away with a smile in my heart and a grin contorting my drab, pale, chubby face into something more palatable. Mr. T stood beside his colleague watching me as I went, a big grin on his face as well. The co-worker still had the look of a deer caught in headlights, but I figured that Mr. T would bring him up to speed once I left.

If by chance, at some point in the future I have the funds, perhaps I will choose Mr. T as my personal trainer. He just might need me as much as I need him.