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The summer is over. The leaves will soon fall. And I’ve lost 30 pounds! Yes, 30 pounds, with another 30 to go. I’m proud as I can be and thrilled to know that I’m halfway to my goal; especially since I was convinced I couldn’t lose an ounce.
You, of course, are eager to know how I did it. And let me assure you that I didn’t take the conventional route. Instead, I danced the pounds off. Yes, this chunky Jew from Queens can dance! Here’s what happened:
When I went to Canyon Ranch for the summer, I got myself a trainer. He was a very nice guy, despite the fact that he weighed 110 pounds and all he ever talked about was Lance Armstrong. Don’t misunderstand me. My admiration for Lance Armstrong is enormous. He has overcome tremendous odds. My problem? I’m shallow. I would much rather talk about clothes or jewelry, especially when I’m exercising.
My scrawny trainer insisted I stay on the treadmill for half an hour and then, he put me on the bike for another half hour. And the entire time, he talked about Lance Armstrong. How I longed for the company of someone as shallow as me!
I persevered, and kept working with Mr. Skinny for an entire month. That is, until the day I had an emotional meltdown.
I was on my way to the gym one day when another fitness instructor, Michelle, came up to me and noticed I wasn’t my usual sunny self.
“Linda, what’s wrong?,” she asked. Well, I lost it. I broke down crying and let it rip.
“If I have to have one more Lance Armstrong conversation … if I have to go on that treadmill one more time … if I have to ride that lousy bike one more block …” I ranted. I raved. I kvetched.
She could tell she was talking to a woman on the edge. After hugging me, she said, “Come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.” So I followed her and found myself in a dance studio where, standing in front of me was a vision of loveliness; a beautiful young girl with a body to be envied the world over. She was chewing a huge wad of gum and when she managed to open her month, she said — with a New York accent straight out of Brooklyn — “Youz here fuh uh dance class?”
Apparently, I was.
With that introduction, she turned on the music (the soundtrack to the movie Chicago) and she began to dance. “Come on, start dancing!” she urged. I said I hadn’t danced in 40 years. She said, “Honey, it’s like riding a bike!” And suddenly, Lance Armstrong was in the room yet again. But only briefly because — hallelujah! — my new dance instructor was as shallow as me!
I followed her moves and frankly, I was pathetic. But my body was moving and I was perspiring. Not only that, I was laughing at the same time. Soon, the hour was up and I said, “This is the most fun I’ve had in years!” She proceeded to tell me that I was a born dancer. Me, a born dancer? At over 200 pounds? Who knew?
But I was hooked. So every day, seven days a week, I danced my little heart out. And after a while, I noticed my clothes began to hang. So much so that my shallow instructor said, “Honey, it’s time to get ya some new clothes.” So off we went and bought me some normal clothes! In fact, one could say I danced the fat clothes right out of my life!
When my time at Canyon Ranch was over, I went home to Florida and the first thing I did was sign up for dance lessons.
Now, I’m on the road to losing the next 30 pounds — one shimmy, one slide, one shake at a time. Heck, for all I know, I could be the next Catherine Zeta Jones. Look for me on Broadway! Because if I can dance away 30 pounds, anything’s possible.
What’s on your mind? I want to know
about it! Send your questions to
and don’t forget to check out my Web site at www.lindarichman.com.
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2004 ANEW Magazine / Erickson Publishing, LLC Email
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