On the set III
Day One (evening): Set of “The Biggest Loser: Couples,” the Biggest Loser Ranch, gym. Hedon and Stace are huffing and puffing on a pair of treadmills.
Hedon: I’ve … got … to … stop … am … dying.
Stace: (hissing) For god’s sake, keep going.
Hedon: I didn’t sign up for a death march, missy.
Stace: If you stop, you’ll draw Jillian’s attention. Look at her over there. She’s all wrapped up in trying to get the 500 pound man to do a push up. If we lay low, we might just get out of this thing alive.
Hedon: Well now, that’s a matter for some discussion. Die on the treadmill, die while Jillian’s got me doing squat thrusts. Don’t see much difference between the two options.
Stace: Oh, you say that now, but wait until … oh Jesus, no. She looked at us. Shut up!
Hedon and Stace lower their heads and hunch their soldiers, trying to look like dutiful little exercisers. Both flinch when a set of rock-hard abs come into their view. Stace shudders.
Jillian: Hey there, how’s it going?
Stace: (with dear-in-headlights eyes, mumbles) Great. I’m feelin’ the burn.
Jillian: (to Hedon) How about you?
Hedon: (grunts)
Jillian: Hmm. I was just thinking that since you both have all that breath for talking, we can speed up these treadmills a bit.
Jillian reaches out and pushes the buttons to make the treadmills speed up.
Hedon: (grabbing the support bars) Are you mad, woman?!
Stace: (squeaks in terror)
Jillian: (smiling broadly) Oh, Hedon. Backtalking so soon?
Stace: She wasn’t backtalking you. She was talking to me.
Hedon: The hell I was.
Stace: (moans)
Jillian: Okay, Hedon. Since the treadmill isn’t so much to your liking, let’s just head on over here to that little bench, shall we?
Hedon: (jumping off treadmill with vigor) That’s more like it. Some rest on a bench would be perfect. Come on, Stace.
Stace: (head down, shaking side to side) No, no. You go ahead. The treadmill suits me fine.
Jillian: You sure you don’t want to head to the bench?
Stace: Oh yes, I’m sure. You go ahead.
Jillian: (chuckles) Let’s go, Hedon.
Hedon: (rolling eyes at Stace) Suck up.
Jillian and Hedon walk over to the bench. As Hedon is preparing to sit down, Jillian puts a hand on her shoulder.
Jillian: Oh no. You’re not going to be sitting on the bench.
Hedon: …
Jillian: This is the jumping bench. You’re going to be jumping over it, back and forth, until I tell you to quit.
Hedon: What?! This is insane. Do you have any idea what might happen if I try to jump over that bench?
Jillian: Do tell me.
Hedon: Ever seen “Sponge Bob Square Pants?” Ever seen where his limbs just snap in two? That’s what will happen here. My legs will just snap right off, probably at the knees, though I suppose the femurs themselves might go. Either way, I’ll be crippled for life.
Jillian: I’ll risk it. Now, bend your knees and … jump!
Hedon: (hands on hips) No way.
A distant squeak sound comes from the vicinity of where Stace is still trudging on the treadmill.
Jillian: You’re gonna do it.
Hedon: Nope.
The two women face one another, looking deeply into each other’s eyes. The stare-off continues for some time. Sweat rolls down the sides of Hedon’s face. In a sudden jerk, Hedon flinches back and breaks the stare. She shuffles next to the bench and begins jumping. Jillian just smiles.
Some time later, Hedon and Stace sit side by side on a pair of mats, doing cool-down stretching.
Stace: Are you okay?
Hedon: I think so, but I’ve definitely been scarred for life again.
Stace: What happened? What’d she do to make you jump?
Hedon: (shudders) I was right when I called her mad. I looked into her eyes and it was like Dante’s “Inferno.” What I saw there was the lowest pits of hell. I don’t know. It was evil incarnate. It was impossible not to do what she said.
Stace: …
Hedon: She was like Hannibal Lector. Those eyes. She was telling me she was going to pull out my liver, saute it, and eat it with a fine Chianti. God, it was awful.
Stace: Nah, she wouldn’t do that.
Hedon: You don’t know. You didn’t see what I saw.
Stace: Okay, well, let’s say she did pull out your liver. She’d never saute it. Too fattening. She’d probably broil it. And she wouldn’t have the wine, either. She’d serve your dry broiled liver with some steamed vegetables, the kind with anti-oxidants.
Hedon: Somehow, that’s even worse.
Next time On the Set: Bed time.
Oh! Oh! Oh! (gasping and rocking back and forth while holding my middle to keep it from shaking the house apart) you guys!
And the weird thing is that I can totally see that happening to some poor hapless person on that show.
My son should never read this – he will start calling me Jillian (I know how to do that stare).
You girls are more fun to “watch” than the Simpsons ..oh I could see it all.
Thanks for the truck tour and the pic of Maggie with her dolly. um my cat has a huge green Grinch doll that he fights, sleeps, and drags around, it gets really serious. You might think of getting a George W. backup … I don’t know what the cat’ll do if Grinchy falls apart someday.
Wish all the best for 2009.
L.
Sayre,
If ZBoy starts calling you Jillian, make him run in place until he decides Mama is a much better choice.
I have to admit that this whole series of posts seems to me to be frighteningly realistic as to what would happen if we were on the show.
L,
Hey, I wanted to thank you for the ziplock bag idea in those cabinets. I tried it and it’s much better… oh things still fall out but now you only have to pick up one bag not a bunch of loose crap.
Every single toy Maggie has her goal is to rip it apart, tear the squeaker out and bite it in two, then pull all the stuffing out and leave said stuffing all over the truck. Then she’s done with that toy and really never picks it up again. I keep hearing about other dogs and cats that have favorite toys they keep forever, but Mags is just blood thirsty when it comes to toys.
I think she’s disgruntled that she hasn’t broken in to George yet.