Monday, June 06, 2005

The Beckon Call of Cheerleader on Crack

I got an email from Cheerleader on Crack last week inviting me to be a part of a "Turbo Test Group." I am convinced that she is the most brilliant fitness instructor ever, like she was touched by god or Jack Lalane, called to fitness duty for which she so diligently and kindly and happily follows. She knows she's good and she doesn't rub it in your face. So, with this brilliance she has built a fitness empire called Turbo Kick and it has grown at alarming rates because we are all willing to do whatever COC tells us. She is in fact my fitness crack. And as long as she helps me get my ass into shape, I am perfectly ok with this.

So, the test group . . . COC is brewing up an infomercial to spread her gospel more to the masses, as it should be, like, the Trinity Church or Benny Hinn. And she is testing her product -- which I'll call Eat Right and Exercise -- on test groups. I have been invited to be a part of Test Group #2, and I went to the meeting yesterday. The program is basically: Be hardcore for 10 days to kick start your new way of life! And then give yourself a tiny bit of a break for the next 4 weeks and Voila! You are now in the habit of your fabulously healthy new lifestyle and on your way to optimal health.

The Hardcore portion of the program includes doing cardio all 10 of those days, hopefully all Turbo Kick. Whoever takes the most TurboKick classes during the 10 days wins a bad-ass TurboKick! jacket. Hardcore also includes very clean eating: No processed shit, no alcohol, smaller portions, stop eating 2 hours before bed time, no more than one caffeinated drink (if you must), and for fucks sakes drink some water. Good, solid advice and I have pretty much all of those under control except that portions part and the cookie addiction and not working out enough - oh and loving coffee so, so much . . . but other than that I think I got this. I'm trying to win that jacket, goddamn it, and I'm going to do this in quest of my optimal fitness. And for my Cheerleader on Crack.

My friend AnnaRita is part of this whole turbo cult; one of the key people now actually. I knew her when she was 50lbs heavier and took tennis lessons from my husband. I didn't think she was overweight at all. Just Samoan. But she got sucked into the lure of COC a few years ago and now AnnaRita looks like Ms. Fitness New Zealand 2002-2005. Ripped, not an ounce of fat with her Samoan hair crazy following out her head. She looks unbelievable. Sidebar: I see AnnaRita everywhere I go. Wherever I turn, AnnaRita is there. I'm not even surprised anymore. Shops, market, bookstore, obscure parties in Santa Ana . . . I was taken to a Prince concert by my BFF Mandy, and you may know that Prince pulls about 5 people on stage per concert. When I was there, AnnaRita was pulled on stage. She loves to announce to me in some kind of minority confidence how the white people in Orange County don't know how to move or dance which is funny considering AnnaRita doesn't dance that well either, but I love that she likes to confide that to me loud enough for all the white people to hear her.

AnnaRita was at the TurboTest meeting yesterday, of course. In her loud New Zealand accent she yells, "WE'RE GOING TO GET YOU INTO SHAPE!" Uh, k. Then out of a nervous need to make conversation as she was measuring my ass (yes, they measured, weighed and before-pictured me during the tortue portion part of this meeting), I say, "Uh, yea, heehee, my 20 year reunion's coming up in August." "WHAT??" She screams. My hair blows back because even though she's loud she likes to talk to me 3 inches from my face. Everytime I run into her, I round a corner and she's 3 inches from my face. She yells, "OH NOW YOU HAVE TO EMAIL ME YOUR FOOD LOG EVERY DAY. GOT IT? RE-UNI-ON!!" And I looked down the barrel of her ripped guns and I looked over at COC who smiled stellarly and waved -- I am now convinced AnnaRita is her personal hitman -- and said, frightened, "Ok."

1 comment:

The Dominican said...

Too fucking funny. That woman is insane. I wish I knew her so I could write something as twisted. Life is definitely stranger than fiction.