Making sense of getting fit

The gym sits on the west side of Fourth Street, "get fit and save today" and "$0 sign up for the new year" signs out front catching my eye, but not as much as the thin people working out .

It took another year of up and down weight capped off by a holiday month of pure binge eating to get me in there. Just one example: The Other Half's grandmother gave us a tin of her homemade bonbons on his birthday, Dec. 9. By my birthday, Dec. 18, Mr. Half had eaten three, and I'd eaten 18.

So what made me suddenly turn into the Lifestyle Family Fitness ("Bring Your Body to Life") parking lot on Christmas Eve was a combination of pure disgust at my lack of self-control and the belief that paying money to a gym would make me exercise more -- in short, the same two factors that have made me sign up for gym memberships four times previously.

The average woman who had spent as much on gyms and weight loss programs and medications as I have would weigh roughly 12 pounds by now.

Lifestyle offers three free sessions with a personal trainer -- the first one devoted to a physical assessment and trying to convince you to divert next month's house payment into additional sessions.

Just walking around the place was a bit intimidating. I kept picturing the aerobics instructor asking me to please exercise further away from those big windows. At the end of the tour, my guide told me she was going to set me up with Neil for my training.

"With your needs, he'd be perfect," she said.

I figured, since my need was losing the equivalent of another human being in weight, Neil might be a friendly guy, average looking, not intimidating at all.

In reality, Neil is human perfection. Near-black hair, perfect skin, chiseled jaw, ideal physique. I almost passed out when he walked over for our Monday appointment. Thank God I at least shaved my legs, but I was wearing no makeup.

Neil is all about fitness and doesn't have a lot of time for jokes. He eats only unprocessed organic foods, which makes him crave water instead of alcohol.

This is actually what he said.

"How much water do you drink in a day?" he asked.

"About 64 ounces," I said.

"What would you say if I told you you should be drinking half your body weight in ounces?" he asked.

"I'd say I'd have to quit my job and devote my life to drinking water," I said.

Zero reaction on Neil's part. Apparently, my response should have been, "Holy guacamole! Hand me a bottled water this instant!"

We measured my percentage of body fat. "Have you ever done this before?" Neil asked.

"Once," I said.

"Do you remember what your number was?" he asked.

"No, just the trainer's look of shock and dismay," I said.

Again, zero reaction. In all fairness, it could be that my weight has passed the phase where most people are inclined to jokes about it, but COME ON! That was funny.

Neil's other main characteristic was ending every statement with, "Does that make any sense to you?"

"Every movement you make begins with your abs. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Machines in the gym don't duplicate the way you use your muscles in life. Does that make any sense to you?"

Yes. I am a 35-year-old professional. It all makes sense to me.

Maybe he's not Rodney Dangerfield, and maybe he needs a new catch phrase, but of course I'm totally enamored. And while I typically don't like to pay for the company of hot men, I handed over $90 I could ill afford for a personal workout regimen.

I am so wearing makeup next Monday.

Heidi Hall is a former managing editor of the Southeast Missourian who now lives in St. Petersburg, Fla.