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Authors: Ellen Degeneres
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work out. Practically.
I used to be the worst when it came to physical fitness, until my psychic introduced me to Rico, my personal trainer. We’ve been through a lot these past two years, but I’m all the healthier for it.
Not only did Rico guide me through the awkward beginning stages of my new fitness plan, but he also helped me with my poor-nutrition problems. I remember when I first told Rico that my weakness is coffee ice cream. You’d think I’d said I like to eat hundred-dollar bills.
“You can’t eat that! Why would you want to eat that?”
This is the weirdest question I have ever been asked. I actually considered taking the time to explain to him why ice cream is so good. How could he not know? Then I remembered we were on my dime.
“It’s delicious,” I wheezed, trying to finish my fourth sit-up. (Trainers will always try to have deep, meaningful conversations with you while you’re exercising. It gets your heart rate up.)
“Well, if you’re gonna do that, you should have coffee frozen yogurt. It’s half the fat and calories of ice cream.” So I bought it and I tried it.
At our next session, I brought it up during my quad presses. “Hey, I had some of that coffee frozen yogurt. You know what else I could do instead of eating coffee ice cream? I could chew on a tan-colored towel.” I thought I’d really got him on that one, but he just increased the weight on my quad press machine.
Rico was always giving me tips on how to lose weight faster.
“Drink more water,” he’d say, doing sit-ups while hanging upside down.
“I do drink a lot of water,” I’d reply. “Ice cream makes me thirsty.”
These were the things I’d say to Rico to get him all riled up. He was hard to rile, though, especially when he was upside down.
Clearly, Rico had no understanding of my love of food. There are people who are like that. They don’t really care about what they eat or when or how much or if they can get seconds. They just eat what’s good for them. Who are these people?
Rico told me in all sincerity one day, “You can go to any restaurant. Just don’t order bread, potatoes, rice, fatty meats, dessert, or wine.”
“Let’s see, that leaves water and carrots. Sounds delicious.”
I don’t think he heard me. I was about fifteen feet away from him and had just caught the medicine ball he’d thrown to me. Well,
at
me. And hard—not the way a boy should throw to a girl. But that was Rico.
“You can eat whatever you want, just eat less of it. You like pizza:
“Yeah! Let’s go get some pizza!” I dropped the medicine ball and ran to get my jacket.
“No, I mean, if you like it you can have it. Just have one slice.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had just one slice of pizza. Unless it was one of those really big slices you buy one at a time. But those are easily three slices of regular pizza in one huge slice shape. I think the only way I could ever eat just one slice of pizza is if I had the one slice and then knocked myself out with a rock.
I wanted to quit. I wanted to go home. I wanted Meredith Baxter to take me away. Suddenly, I felt rage boil up in my belly. I felt the injustice of my genes. Why wasn’t I born in Sweden like everyone else? Why did I need some jerk to stand next to me, counting my “reps” and telling me to feel the burn? I felt the burn all right and the burn made me want to punch my trainer in the face. And then, as if by magic, Rico appeared in front of me wearing headgear and holding up two large, red padded gloves.
“Are you ready for some kickboxing, baby?” Oh, I was ready.
----
I have had many trainers since Rico, but I still miss him sometimes. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve gotten into kickboxing. And I’ll always appreciate the fact that he didn’t sue me. I did hit him pretty hard. Rico was a good sport. But what could he say to me? He was the one who got me so strong in the first place.
smartishness
Do you feel insecure because
I used to be the worst when it came to physical fitness, until my psychic introduced me to Rico, my personal trainer. We’ve been through a lot these past two years, but I’m all the healthier for it.
Not only did Rico guide me through the awkward beginning stages of my new fitness plan, but he also helped me with my poor-nutrition problems. I remember when I first told Rico that my weakness is coffee ice cream. You’d think I’d said I like to eat hundred-dollar bills.
“You can’t eat that! Why would you want to eat that?”
This is the weirdest question I have ever been asked. I actually considered taking the time to explain to him why ice cream is so good. How could he not know? Then I remembered we were on my dime.
“It’s delicious,” I wheezed, trying to finish my fourth sit-up. (Trainers will always try to have deep, meaningful conversations with you while you’re exercising. It gets your heart rate up.)
“Well, if you’re gonna do that, you should have coffee frozen yogurt. It’s half the fat and calories of ice cream.” So I bought it and I tried it.
At our next session, I brought it up during my quad presses. “Hey, I had some of that coffee frozen yogurt. You know what else I could do instead of eating coffee ice cream? I could chew on a tan-colored towel.” I thought I’d really got him on that one, but he just increased the weight on my quad press machine.
Rico was always giving me tips on how to lose weight faster.
“Drink more water,” he’d say, doing sit-ups while hanging upside down.
“I do drink a lot of water,” I’d reply. “Ice cream makes me thirsty.”
These were the things I’d say to Rico to get him all riled up. He was hard to rile, though, especially when he was upside down.
Clearly, Rico had no understanding of my love of food. There are people who are like that. They don’t really care about what they eat or when or how much or if they can get seconds. They just eat what’s good for them. Who are these people?
Rico told me in all sincerity one day, “You can go to any restaurant. Just don’t order bread, potatoes, rice, fatty meats, dessert, or wine.”
“Let’s see, that leaves water and carrots. Sounds delicious.”
I don’t think he heard me. I was about fifteen feet away from him and had just caught the medicine ball he’d thrown to me. Well,
at
me. And hard—not the way a boy should throw to a girl. But that was Rico.
“You can eat whatever you want, just eat less of it. You like pizza:
“Yeah! Let’s go get some pizza!” I dropped the medicine ball and ran to get my jacket.
“No, I mean, if you like it you can have it. Just have one slice.”
I don’t think I’ve ever had just one slice of pizza. Unless it was one of those really big slices you buy one at a time. But those are easily three slices of regular pizza in one huge slice shape. I think the only way I could ever eat just one slice of pizza is if I had the one slice and then knocked myself out with a rock.
I wanted to quit. I wanted to go home. I wanted Meredith Baxter to take me away. Suddenly, I felt rage boil up in my belly. I felt the injustice of my genes. Why wasn’t I born in Sweden like everyone else? Why did I need some jerk to stand next to me, counting my “reps” and telling me to feel the burn? I felt the burn all right and the burn made me want to punch my trainer in the face. And then, as if by magic, Rico appeared in front of me wearing headgear and holding up two large, red padded gloves.
“Are you ready for some kickboxing, baby?” Oh, I was ready.
----
I have had many trainers since Rico, but I still miss him sometimes. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve gotten into kickboxing. And I’ll always appreciate the fact that he didn’t sue me. I did hit him pretty hard. Rico was a good sport. But what could he say to me? He was the one who got me so strong in the first place.
smartishness
Do you feel insecure because
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