As most of you know, I am a big fan of “The Biggest Loser”. I love everything about that show. I love that people are trying to get in shape. I love watching the workouts and challenges. I love watching the contestants crumble at the foot of a treadmill. I love watching the trainers yell at fat people. I love watching people lose hundreds of pounds and gain self-confidence just by changing their diet and learning to exercise. It’s awesome. It inspires me to workout more. And I have been.
I finally (after two and a half months!) got paid. You might not believe this, but I was chomping at the bit to get into the gym. It had been a while since I worked out and I was starting to feel soft and weak – two adjectives that I would rather not associate with myself, thank you very much. So, I marched right into the gym and purchased a month-long pass.
I want to set the record straight before I get any further. I don’t go to the gym to lose weight or get skinny. I go to the gym in order to feel good and gain strength. I run because it makes me feel good. I lift weights because it makes me strong. (and feel like a super badass) I like my body. I have an ample posterior, a nice rack and a middle that is sometimes little and sometimes the result of too much beer and Choco Moos. But I don’t worry about it. I am happy with myself. I can do ten push ups, and I can do five pull ups. I rock.
Recently, my flatmate and I have taken to watching Australia’s Next Top Model. It is a much better version of the Tyra Banks vehicle we all pretend to hate but watch anyway. The models on this show are not “curvy” or short. They are not against type in any way. They are tall and thin. And weak. One episode featured the models doing a workout and a few of the girls couldn’t even do a sit up. Not only did some of these girls look disgusting – collar bones and ribs protruding – they looked unhealthy. Gross. I would rather have hips, tits and ass thank you very much. I don’t want to be a contestant on The Biggest Loser, but i don’t want to be a contestant on America’s Next Top Model either.
I want to look like Alias, or Angela Basset in “What’s Love Got to Do With It”. I want to be strong and healthy. I want to be able to outrun the zombies when they finally stage their uprising. I want to be super ME. And Super Me isn’t a weak, skinny, helpless girl. Super Me is a strong, fit, capable, hot badass babe.
Now all I need is a cape.