Taster Spoon

By the Power of Grayskull

Here's a question I'm going to throw out for discussion, because there's a situation at the gym that pains me, and I don't know whether there is anything I can, or should, do about it.

There's a woman I see there often, who is obviously anorexic.  Disturbingly so.  And it makes me feel all sad and want to help her.  I'm not alone - I've started to discover that a variety of people I already know (like Ace's brother, and Jack from run club) actually go to the same gym as me, we just rarely overlap.  So we have fun conversations, comparing notes on some of the faces we all always see.  The super-intense guy who does lunges with a 40-lb plate in each hand.  The rolly-polly, nerdy guy in the USC sweatsuit who chats up ALL the ladies.  The older guy who puts the treadmill on an incline, cranks it up to 10 mph and jumps on - backwards.  (I finally saw him!)  And Skeletor.

Sigh.  But I don't know her from Adam.  I mean, I leave OTHER  self-destructive people alone, figuring they're free to kill themselves if they want.  I don't snatch cigarettes out of strangers' hands, I don't raise an eyebrow when enormous people order the Gotta Have It size at Cold Stone, and I don't tsk-tsk when I catch a motorcyclist's eye at a stoplight.  So why should it be any of my business to worry about this woman?  I mean, the other three have the potential to damage ME - secondhand smoke, rising insurance rates, emergency room costs and steeper taxes.  But until this woman has to go in for an IV, she doesn't burden me in the least.

Maybe because I feel like, with the smoker and the overeater and the motorcyclist, they consciously choose their risks and weigh them against the pleasure of indulging, whereas with the anorexic, she's got a screw that's come loose somewhere, maybe is a victim of early abuse or plain old media hype - but at the end of the day isn't enjoying her compulsion.  That she secretly wishes she could let go.  But I really have no experience in the field, so frankly I just don't know.

I'd be a little put out if a stranger came up to me and criticized what I ate or how I exercised or, especially - how I looked.  What nerve! 

But is there anything the gym can or ought to do?  One person made the point that, just as bars have Dram Shop laws that discourage them from overserving patrons who've had enough, might not 24 Hour Fitness have some kind of obligation to cut this woman off?  (Yes, she could just go someplace else, but would it operate as a wake-up call?  That other people care?)

Or could 24 Hour Fitness jump in and offer some free personal trainer help?  Those setups always start with a weigh in and goal setting session, and maybe that could function as a reality check and she could get some nutrition advice.  If they picked a goal like an event, maybe they could work together towards building up some strength or skill rather than just burning the ol' calorie. 

Should I say something to the gym?  I'm sure they already know she's there.  You can't miss her - unless she turns sideways.

Truth be told, I don't even know that she is on the wrong track.  For all I know, she's recovering.  Certainly I only ever see her using weight machines, not the cardio stuff - so maybe she's trying to build back up in a healthy way.  So then it's REALLY really none of my business.  She's a perfect stranger, not a friend.  24 Hour isn't really a place to become friendly, either (with the exception of the complimentary and gorgeous Karen from a few weeks back - hey there!  I saw you at the Milk Pail but was too shy to say hello!). 

So what should I do?  Just let it be?

All the leaves are brown...

Last week I was in the south suburbs of Chicago, and this was the view out the family room window.

At about the same time I took this picture, I was also flipping through the Real Estate section and getting all riled up that these ridiculous four-bedroom gourmet kitchen homes and whatnot were going for $250,000 and griping about how in Silicon Valley a two bedroom teardown'll set you back at least a million.

But then I returned late Thursday night, and when I woke Friday morning, this was the view from my pillow.

...Or, Just Look like One

So, this lady was checking me out in the locker room the other day after my workout as I was changing into my bikini, and she said, "You have a great body."

[Ed. This is as far as the true part of the story got when I was relating it to Ace.]

I thanked her, and she asked what my exercise regimen was.  And I explained that I was trying to get fit for triathlons...and she interrupted and said, "Oh.  That sounds like a lot.  I keep asking people because I'm just hoping to meet someone who looks great and says they work out for twenty minutes twice a week.  And then they can tell me their secret!  There doesn't appear to be a secret.  It's always the old, Eat Right and Exercise a Lot."

I commiserated and she went off to the pool and I to the hot tub.  But as I was soaking, I thought about it, whether there were any short cuts or cheater methods to looking fit and healthy, you know, without actually putting in the time.  And I came up with the following two plans, which I will now share with you.  Note that these plans are hardly ideal, nor am I a trainer or a doctor and blah blah blah.  It's just what I would do if I were going to fake my way to the appearance of better health.

1.  The Big Event Method

Sign up for some major athletic accomplishment: a half Ironman, a marathon - something like that.  Train diligently for it - and don't half ass it, train like you want to do as well as you can.  This translates to a serious time commitment for four or five months: working out five days a week, a couple of half-day efforts, etc.  You'll look fantastic!  But then, after the event, sit on your butt for the remaining seven or eight months of the year.  I really think you can coast for a long time after serious training like that before you start to flab out.  So, although your life sucks for four or five months, amortize that cost over the entire year and it really works out to, like, twenty minutes twice a week.

2.  The Fool-the-Eye Method

Get skinny by other means.  (I mean, besides the cardiovascular benefits of aerobic exercise, it's really just a big ol' calorie burner - so cut the calories some other way, decide you don't really care about your heart, and skip the time-consuming treadmill.)  Then, use your twenty minutes twice a week to lift weights.  Don't pansy around with the 5 lb. dumbells, but really focus on beefing up.  You won't really beef up because you're being all skinny, but you'll look cut and athletic.  Nice payoff for a small time investment.  Also?  Suck in your stomach all the time.  Then you can skip the 10-Minute Abs and spend that time doing military presses.  Are you sucking in your stomach right now?  Why not?  Sit up straight, while you're at it. 

Coming Down with a Case of the...

Whenever I'm filling out medical forms, I always check the box that says I have no known allergies.  I may have to change this response.

I had a relaxing weekend, rode my bicycle in the sunshine, saw Dreamgirls with Ace (two thumbs down - we both checked our watches two thirds of the way through), officially began my marathon training plan, ate potato skins and devilled eggs at a SuperBowl party and fell asleep at about 9 pm (Was there rum involved?  I'll never tell).  And yesterday had a lot going for it: it was Doughnut Day at work (every Monday we get breakfast - doughnuts and fruit), I got a lot of stuff done, and it looked like a pretty nice day outside.  After work I decided to skip my plan to go swimming in the cold and the dark.  (I have a new resolution this year that if I make a reasonable exercise plan and a reasonable effort to execute it, I won't feel any guilt whatsoever about skipping a day or two each week.)  So that was fine, too.  I created a warm fuzzy picture in my head of heading home, ignoring the chaos there, firing up the computer and settling down with a cup of chamomile to feel virtuous about putting in a couple of hours of work.

But I just thought I'd stop off at Trader Joe's to pick up something quick for dinner.  I scored a lump of Bool Kogi and jumped into the shortest checkout line, behind this foreign grad student who was buying a couple of bottles of Two Buck Chuck.  She was cute enough, and the checkout guy's eyes lit up and he asked to see her ID.  She gave him her Korean driver's license, and indicated where her birthdate was, and he starting flirting, going on about how he couldn't read Korean (it was numerals, dude) and how he'd have to ring the manager, so he rang for the manager and I had the pleasure of listening to them discuss what she was studying, how long she'd been here, when she was going back, whether maybe she wouldn't really prefer to stay in America, and his earnest advice to her to chase her dreams and ask for what she wanted, that's how it works in America.  The manager finally came over and gave her ID the nod, and Mr. Ambassador finally started bagging her up.  In the time her transaction took, five people in each checkout line to either side of me got checked out. 

But I didn't learn my lesson - Wal-Mart is just next door to TJ's and I ran in to pick up one little thing - a five minute trip.  Until I got to the checkout lines.  The "12 Items Or Less" aisle is no good, because it is the same as the behind-the-glass cigarette checkout line, and I've been suckered once already into standing behind someone with four items, only to grind my teeth as they asked for various cigarette cartons, changed their mind and swapped back and forth.  This time, I was smart about it.  I got in back of a line of about 5 people, including one woman with a cart full - I say, full - of, I don't know, everything.  But I figured, that's just one transaction.  With a laser scanner and that plastic bag lazy susan, that'll be quicker than the seven people in that line over there with three items each.  I pulled a Better Homes & Gardens from the rack and settled in. 

After about ten minutes, as the person with the full cart started getting rung up, three more checkers opened - behind me.  The person in line behind me was first to rush over for immediate service.  No biggie, I thought, graciously, I'm nearly there.  Until the "transaction" part of the transaction.  The person with the enormous shopping cart, as far as I can tell, was determining how much available credit she had on her card by trial and error. 

"Here, take this $5 cash, and deduct that from the total, and I'll pay the rest with credit."

[Process, process - note that the checker was doing the math with pencil and paper - denied.]

"Oh, okay, let's start over.  Take this $13 cash, and deduct that from the total, and I'll put the rest on my card."

[Process, process - I must note that the cash she was proffering was not exact change either, but a $100 bill she kept waving around.  More math scratching, change determined, card attempted, denied.]

"Okay, now let me give you $28 - here, I'll give you the hundred and you give me change for that, and then we'll put the rest on credit here."

By this time the one woman in front of me (after the huge cart lady) was rolling her eyes like she'd been possessed - her purchase was literally one small box of nails, the woman behind me had gone away to research other lines and returned (it's hard to sacrifice that sunk cost - you always think you're close), I had finished the Better Homes & Gardens and had opened and was passing around a bag of cheesy poufs.  I think I stood in line for 25 minutes. 

Ace has told me innumerable times that he will always go directly to Target, which is right across the street from Wal-Mart.  The prices are slightly higher but well worth the savings of time and aggravation.  So I can't even complain to him about this - all I'll get is an "I told you so."

So by the time I got home it was late, I was hungry and tired, I had to climb over a mountain of boxes to get into the house (as always), my frozen burrito from Trader Joe's was no longer, and as I was putting things away in the fridge I stood up and hit my head on the closing freezer door and burst into tears.  It didn't last; after about 90 seconds I was distracted by all the things I needed to do. 

But there it was.  The day had beaten me after all.  I thought back to the last time I was a real grump, and realized that it was precisely one week prior.  But last week was different - I had gotten stuff done at work, I had had a good workout at the gym, I had yummy plans for dinner - but still I was a terrible grouch.  The only thing in common?  Monday.

It's soooooo cliched, but I think I might be allergic to Mondays.   If anybody has any tips on turning a bad day around, I'd sure love to hear them.

Busy bee

I'm way too busy to be posting anything this week, but this doesn't stop me from running around bestowing my little pearls in everybody else's Comments sections.  Because I may not have a creative thought in my head, but I'll be damned if I don't have opinions on everybody else's.

So if you really care what I have to say about anything, from Datelines I saw six months ago (reminder: need to change my Sonicare head), to dresser drawers, to tombstones, go over to my list of favorite blogs and let the egg hunt begin!

And now to pull a deep (SHALLOW NO DIVING) thought out of this random babble: don't we all love to give our opinion?  Well, okay, maybe not when we're busy and all we wanted to do was rent a car quickly and are subjected to a Customer Service Survey or whatever before we can log off, but isn't it nice that somebody actually thinks our experience really matters?  (But enough about me - what do you think of me?)

I remember being called by the local news in Chicago to be asked my opinion about something - I don't know, garbage collection days or the proliferation of Rich Melman restaurants - and totally giving them like five minutes of my time so they could weed out family members and underagers - and then actually tuning in to watch the evening news so I could see my opinion reflected back at me (and being annoyed that I was in the minority on whatever issue it was).  I swear, it felt as good as voting.

I also remember that I loved filling out "comment cards" when I was a child - hotels, restaurants, shops, airplanes (I read Japan Air Lines the riot act for using disposable chopsticks, save a tree, ne?).  I'm sure my parents had better things to do than wait for me to check all the "satisfactory" boxes and register my thoughts; I'm sure the fact that I was a child was apparent to the recipient and that they just threw them away with barely a glance .  But as a little kid, I found it extremely validating to think that some stranger - some adult - might actually care what I thought. 

So there's my tip for all the parents out there: if your kid wants to fill out a comment card, go ahead and take the five minutes and let them.  It's not about the quality of the service.  It's about them feeling like they matter in the world.