Fitness Audit

"You?" Pete shudders in surprise. Terror. I may as well be DEA, IRS or FDA. "What's this, stealth training?"

It's Sunday, about 9:00am and Pete's just been roused from his comfortable weekly retreat by several loud raps on his Laguna Beach house door.

"I missed you at the Laguna Nigel 10K--"

"--too far to run. Plus the ice cubes jump outta my glass."

Pete gestures me inside...

"Could've walked it. Same calorie burn."

Disinterested growl.

"I 'spose you're hungry?"

...through the house...

"Always."

...into the kitchen...

"Christopher, meet my niece Mallory. My sister dropped her here for the day."

Mallory's pretty, 'bout 12 years old and tall for her age...

"Oh-oh, you're the 'Baaad Man'."

...with attitude to match.

"I've heard Uncle Pete and my Mom talking about you. Nicetameecha...Darth."

My reputation precedes me. Pete, slinks away.

"Chris, Mal...food's up."

I'm expecting that by now Pete has subscribed to my breakfast guidelines: egg whites, veggies, steel cut oats, fresh fruit. No dice.

"Pete! Quick! Call Poison Control."

"What?"

Wheaties. Shed's Spread. Roman Meal. Enetemanns.

"This is an emergency, Mallory. Get a trash bag."

Sensing trouble, she obliges.

"Pete, what's this?"

"Bread."

"Wrong! Garbage. Bleached flour, sugar, dough conditioners."

Plunk. Whole loaf into the bag. Pete's jaw drops.

Mallory asks, "Can he DO that?"

Stunned silence.

"And this?"

"Uh...margarine?"

"No..."

Plunk.

"...pure vitiation! Hydrogenated oils. Preservatives. Artificial flavors. Don't you read the labels?"

"Sure: reduced fat, no cholesterol."

"Yeah, what about sodium?"

"Is 300mg a lot?", asks Mallory, reading the boxed cereal label.

"Sure is. Sodium content is better when its milligram amount doesn't exceed calorie content per serving."

I sternly shake the box of mixed donuts at Pete.

"But that's for Mallory. It's alright. She's a kid."

My healthy sensibilities reel.

"This stuff's as bad as tobacco. It's an insidious health risk--high sugar, zero nutrition, chemical additives--craftily marketed so you think it's OK. These debased products foster an overfed, malnourished, disease-prone population who'll soon barely be able to muster enough physicality to pilot a TV remote from the couch."

Meekly, in two part harmony: "But--"

Plunk. Plunk.

"Done!"

I snatch the full bag and race for the trash bins outside.

Pete and Mallory look at each other. Interlock pinkies.

Pete consoles: "Hang tough, kiddo...'til lunch."



to june, 1999, to august, 1999

Just So You Know

This was originally published in Brentwood News in July of 1999 and was an ongoing column providing a (hopefully) humorous view of the wrestling match that often occurs between trainer and client. Though Pete, who is an actual client, stars in all of these stories they really concern actual encounters with numerous clients over the last 15 years.