FITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM

A few days ago I had a very disturbing experience. 

Having scored two vaccines, and realizing I would soon have to go out into the world again, I decided it was finally time to take on my mortal enemy: the Covid 15. (It may actually be the COVID 20 or 30 at this point. I honestly have no idea.) The impulse became even stronger when I caught Willy Wonka on TV and realized I was identifying with Augustus Gloop.

There were two obvious methods of attacking the enemy. One was to execute a search-and-destroy mission to rid my house of all of the chocolate that, as I've previously explained, my husband hides from me. This seemed both extreme and unnecessary. The other was to unfreeze my health club membership. 

I chose the latter. I figured that a horde of the recently vaccinated would also be waddling in the direction of the fitness center. I imagined feeling a warm, supportive camaraderie as we heaved ourselves onto the machines or belly-flopped into the pool. So the next day, for the first time in a year, I packed the red mesh Costco shopping bag that passes as my gym bag and headed over to LA Fitness. I marched up to the welcome counter, proudly poised to swipe my card. 

But then I made the mistake of looking around. 

To my horror, the fitness club was filled with women--young and old(er)-- who were actually fit. Women who were skinny. Women who could wear sports bras or those half t-shirts that float over bare midriffs. Women who had obviously dealt with lockdown by joining the Cult of the Peloton People or entering into an S&M relationship with those scary trainers that live in The Mirror. 

I froze in mid-swipe and began hyperventilating. 

“Are you okay, ma’am?” asked the girl behind the counter. 

“No, I am NOT okay.” I scanned the gym again.” Where are all the flabby, pasty-skinned people?”

“Excuse me?" 

“The women like me. The ones who have been sitting on the couch binge-watching Outlander and eating stuff.” 

“I'm sorry, I--" 

“DON"T YOU GET IT? I CAN’T EXERCISE HERE!!” 

I raced back home and bullied my husband into handing over the Oreos. But once the sugar rush hit, and because at one time I was considered an excellent problem solver, I became determined to develop a solution for women who, like me, are afraid to return to the health club.  

I call it THE FITNESS PROTECTION PROGRAM. Like the government’s similarly named Witness Protection Program, it will be for those of us who have been very bad and need to go where no one will recognize us. 

The Fitness Protection Program would be offered at participating gyms 3 mornings a week. To be admitted, you must have gained at least 15 pounds over the last year and be unable to climb a flight of stairs without wheezing. There will be a small additional fee, but the benefits, presented below, will be well worth it. 

 

I plan to start sending the proposal to local gyms next week. I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, I’m going back into lockdown.