For almost all of my life I have hated exercise. Even as a kid I never wanted to do anything active because I was chubby and just bad at sports. So of course I never got better at them, always got picked last for teams, and applied that same distaste to my feelings about the elliptical machine and people watching me use it.

All of that has changed now that I’ve joined a gym in Hollywood where 70% of the people are on such a serious mission to look good that they can’t be bothered by my or anyone else’s flabbiness, 20% are too busy flirting or drawing attention to themselves, and 10% are actors ranging from tragic D-list discards to legitimate on-screen hotties. I saw Taye Diggs and Hosea Sanchez there looking like chocolate deliciousness and if that won’t motivate me to work out I don’t know what will — the place has hotties galore. So I go for the hotties, stay for the way getting in shape makes me feel. But there is one problem.

I mentioned that 20% of the people at my gym are busy drawing attention to themselves, but there’s a handful that takes things to a new level. There are too few of them to register as any percentage of gym attendees but they make me feel like I must be losing my mind, they’ve lost theirs, or both. It’s one thing to hit the gym in some cute workout wear, another to appear to have freshly done your hair and makeup for the occasion, and yet another to show up half-naked clearly looking for action. I really mean half naked.

For example, for the past few days this one woman has me convinced that she’s a porn star. I’m not familiar with any so I can’t say for sure, but she had the hugest rear end I’ve ever seen on such a small body that I’m sure it’s been surgically enhanced. I mean humungous. She also had breasts to match, at least an H-cup on a size 2 body. I can’t knock her hustle, but did she really need to be working out in nothing but leggings and a blind-as-a-bat-blue bandeau top? We all know that such a thing provides ZERO support. And homegirl knew as much when she hopped up on the treadmill to run, holding one breast in each hand in a way that reminded me of that iconic Janet Jackson Rolling Stone cover except that she was holding her own boobies. While running. For three days in a row. Hunh? There’s flaunting what you’ve got and then there’s straight up ridiculousness.

I’ll probably be intimidated by people who are farther along on their fitness journey than I am for quite some time and am determined enough to use that as motivation. But can the “special” people that Hollywood is notorious for cut a chunky girl a visual break?


Like Us On Facebook Follow Us On Twitter