Sometimes we’d be given pep talks when the cheerleaders could tell the morale was down. “We believe in you. You can do this. Don’t give up.” Meanwhile, the trainer would sit in the corner texting angrily, hyped up on caffeine or whatnot. I assume their texts were about wanting to put us through physical hell.
We were constantly being reminded of how lucky we were to be in such a program. And we were being enticed with offers of possible cash prizes and a trip to an exotic location where we could frolic in bikinis and show off our new toned bodies. This was motivation to stick around.
I’m also fairly competitive, so the need to “win” made me even crazier. I lived and breathed the gym. I mean, I walked out 20 minutes early sometimes, but not all that often. And I did eat only the food they’d give me every day.
As a result, I was obsessed, sleep deprived, miserable, and taking it out on my poor fiancé who was convinced I had been brainwashed.
All I cared about was the infomercial. I wasn’t the only one. Other women in the class were having adverse reactions with the test group. An older woman would sob hysterically everyday in the lobby of the gym to one of the cheerleaders. She lost weight though, so the cheerleaders seemed fine with it.
Two other females in the group also had relationship issues with their significant others and almost broke up. One girl pulled her hamstring and could barely work-out. She still would show up to the classes in full workout gear frantically doing upper body exercises in a chair, pushing herself to the point of tears. Another woman hurt her knee and had to wear a brace. One girl got a fucking hernia. I was trying to impress this fitness guru, but for what and for WHY? Did it have something to do with being yelled at in high school gym class for not being able to run a mile fast enough? . Was it because I didn’t make the top ten when I competed in Miss Nebraska so many years before? Did I even really want to appear on an infomercial shown on late night television? Hell no!