Oh, Gilad!

So I am portly; akin to Anna Nicole, before she started taking TrimSpa, and Al Roker, pre-gastric bypass.

I'm not bragging, far from it. I'm as grossed out at myself as I am of the 1,000 lb man mowing through a 2-liter.

I want to go to the gym, but sleep is oh, so seductive. As of this week I haven't been able to bring myself to get up early enough to get to the gym, or even to work on time. It's fine.

So in order to stave of the self-loathing I have turned to the fitness channel. Yep, I am doing tv aerobics. It is as glorious as it sounds.

I dabble in a variety of shows, thank you DVR, but my mainstay is Total Body Sculpt with Gilad. If you have ever seen the Dana Carvey/Kevin Nealon sketches with Hans and Franz; "I want to pump.... you up!" you have witnessed the glory of Gilad. I swear I think he was the inspiration for those sketches. In yesterday's episode (which included 24 squat jumps that made me cry) he said, and I swear it is true, "I'm here to work...you out!" It was amazing.

Obviously I feel like a complete idiot doing this. I'm in socks in my bedroom doing these semi-ridiculous biometric (his word) exercises that actual take effort on my part with my buddy popping his head in to mock me in facial and verbal expression. Awful in every way.

The only thing more embarrassing than me "working out" with Gilad is my burgeoning girth. So I shall embarrass myself, to myself, for a while longer until my jeans button and I don't fear blowing the ass out when I sit, or walk or even just take a deep breath.

Oh, another horrific-ness that accompanies this situation is the fact that Gilad does his show on Waikiki Beach. The entire time his abs and Diamond Head are just laughing at me from the 80 degree, trade wind cooled, oceanside wonder that is Hawai'i.

Best/worst part of my day.