So Many Fat People! All In One Place!

So, as everyone who reads this blog probably already knows--I'm fat. And, as everyone who reads this blog probably already knows--I love television. Well...this past weekend I found a way to bring these two parts of my life together! FINALLY. Because, being fat and loving TV usually don't go hand-in-hand...unless you count eating a bucket of chocolate candy while watching Millionaire Matchmaker.

It all started last Thursday night, when my dad and I got to talking about his favorite subject--my weight. He's always saying things to me like: "Sometimes I lie awake nights just worrying about you." And look--like many fat people, I'm a little bit insecure. Having my dad tell me that he lies awake nights worrying about me doesn't exactly inspire me to lose weight, although I know that's what he intends for it to do. It actually makes me even more insecure. I think: God, most girls' dads probably don't lie awake at night worrying about them. There must be something really wrong with me. And then I cry. And then I buy a package of Eckrich Smok-y Links and eat them while watching What Not to Wear.

Anyway, he sat me down and started turning on the charm. And let me tell you, my dad is incredibly charming. If he weren't an actor/business owner, he would be a motivational speaker. If he were a super-hero, convincing people to do things would be his power. It doesn't matter what it is, if he tells you to do something, you will eventually want to do it. He'll say: "I know you really like the Bean and Bacon soup, Liz, but you have to try the Lemon Chicken Rice. You have to. It's a Greek classic!" And I'll say: "I don't know, Dad...lemon soup? That sounds gross. And I really like the Bean and Bacon." But somehow, when the waitress shows up, I order the Lemon Chicken Rice. And even though it is gross, there is still the sweet taste of having made my dad happy, if even for a moment.

So, he started smiling at me and telling me how funny I am and how well-spoken and determined I am. "I see you in kickboxing," he said. (We take kickboxing class together twice a week). "You never give up." It's not often that my dad showers me with such praise, so of course I humbly drank it all in. And then he got to the point: "So, you know, your mom and I watch The Biggest Loser every week. And we really like it. And...they're having auditions in Detroit! And I really want you to go. We really want you to go. We think you could get on and win!" Oh yeah--my mom was there too. But she was sleepily eating a beef quesadilla and half-watching Ghost Whisperer, so, it was kind of like she wasn't there.

I just sat there, staring at him, chuckling nervously. "You want me to go to an open casting call for The Biggest Loser?"

"Yes!" He beamed. "It would mean so much to me."

I said: "But I don't even know if I'm big enough." I know--typical fat-girl denial.

My mom suddenly turned her attention to me, eyebrows raised, mouth curled in a half-smirk, shooting me a look telling me that yes, I was definitely fat enough.

Like I said, my dad is good at convincing people to do things. So by the end of the conversation, I had not only shaken his hand and promised to go to the casting call, but I had begun to reassure him that this was truly what I wanted. "I want to be the biggest loser, Dad! I do! I want to! I can't wait to go try out." I didn't know where these words were coming from. I wasn't lying, but I did have the feeling I sometimes get when I'm giving a speech--where words are coming out of my mouth and I don't remember even thinking them.

Getting up at 5:30 a.m. and driving all alone in the frigid cold to a Gardner-White Furniture store in Macomb, I wasn't quite as enthusiastic as I had been when I agreed to all this. But, I had my "fat picture" (which for me is just, like, any picture of me) and I had my ten-page application (which asked questions like: How would someone who knows you well describe your worst qualities? Um...Overly sensitive, talks-too-much, fearful, etc.). I was all set.

After a minor mishap with Google Maps (if you call Google Maps telling me to go right when I actually needed to go left a minor mishap), I arrived at Gardner-White around 7 a.m. and saw an already enormous line snaking its way around the building. In case you were wondering, it looked a little something like this:

 

 

 

I was lucky enough to find a parking spot in the packed lot. So, I parked and filled up my little knapsack with my audition materials and the things I assumed would make waiting in line more bearable--my iPod, my Microbiology book (I had a test to study for), my phone, etc. Then I walked my sad, fat self to the end of the line, which was already way past Gardner-White and had extended onto the sidewalk in front of a neighboring cluster of condos. I hadn't been standing there for more than 2 minutes when I realized how little the things in my knapsack would make waiting in this line more bearable. For one thing, it was 9 degrees out. I hadn't even brought my scarf! I did have gloves, but they were the shitty $2 ones you buy at Target that get holes in them if you even think about touching something that might cause a snag. Luckily, though, I had pounds and pounds of disgusting body fat to keep me warm.

I looked around and noticed that other people had come much better prepared than I had. They had chairs, blankets, battery-operated heaters, mini-grills, hand-warmers, and grocery bags filled with food! I felt like I was standing on the grounds of a gypsy camp. I probably would have started feeling sorry for myself (I mean, that is my M.O.) if it weren't for my fantastic line-mates. Just after I got in line, I was joined by the jovial Noel, whose dad dropped her at the curb and who skipped right over and introduced herself to me. She has one of those personalities that puts you immediately at ease. She exudes warmth. It turns out Noel is an RN, and I'm studying to be an RN, so we had a lot to talk about. Soon after she arrived, Matt, a curly-haired 19-year-old Taco Bell employee who had recently lost his father to a massive heart attack, showed up.

As time ticked slowly by (and I do mean, slowly), I started to feel this wonderful camaraderie with everyone there. I knew I had almost no chance of getting on the show. I mean, sure, I'm fat. I have at least 100 pounds to lose. But there were people there that need this show a lot more than I do. Like Matt. His dad died of a heart attack at 50, and at 19, Matt is already headed down that path himself. Watching the show, your heart goes out to the contestants who all have stories like Matt's, but actually standing in line and looking into the faces of all these people who desperately want and need to lose weight is so much more poignant. It's sad, but it's also inspiring. I've had issues with weight my entire life, and with that, I've often felt completely alone. It was nice to see the tangible evidence that no--I'm not alone. There are thousands of people out there that are just as frustrated as I am with being overweight, and just as committed as I am to getting healthy.

We waited in the bitter cold for 9 hours straight. I was number 510 in line. When we finally got into Gardner-White, it was like finding water in the desert. I thought, I will never go outside again. Gardner-White was all warm and cozy and filled with lamps and couches (no, we weren't allowed to sit on them. Fat people ruin furniture, remember?). We had to wait another hour inside, but I would have stayed in there all night--that's how nice it was compared to the cold. When we finally got to the end of the line, my whole (huge, fat) body was abuzz with nerves. Was I actually about to go and meet with a casting director?

The way they do it at a Biggest Loser casting call is they usher you in in groups of ten. Then they sit you down at a table and a casting director goes around and asks everyone a couple of questions. My line-mates and I worked it out so that we would all be in the same group. It was me, Noel, Matt, another friend Lynda who we met later in the day (a venerable African American woman with the sweetest 11 year old daughter, Cameron. Lynda promised her an iPod for waiting patiently all day), and 6 other people I didn't know. We ran into the casting room cheering and clapping and jumping around, like basketball players running onto the court in front of hundreds of screaming fans. This was our moment.

Our casting director was an adorable 30-ish guy named Tad. He wore a Green Day T-shirt and a stylish porkpie hat. He started by telling us that he understands our plight, as he used to be over a hundred pounds overweight himself. Then he explained to us all about the show, and what would happen if we were cast--how long we'd have to be away from work, school, our families, etc., and a little bit about the two seasons they're casting for (attention Biggest Loser fans: I totally got the inside scoop). As a bona fide TV addict, I was thrilled just to be in the presence of a casting director and to get even the tiniest behind-the-scenes peek.

So: Tad went around the table, looking at everyone's pictures and making notes on everyone's applications. The questions he asked weren't probing. He would simply ask, "Does anyone in your immediate family have a weight issue?" or "So, you're a nursing student. Can you get time off of school?" Those were the questions he asked me. I tried to be as outgoing and smiley as I possibly could and to let my personality shine through (you know, the personality my dad convinced me was glowing enough to get me cast?), but that was hard to do in the less-than-2-minutes of time I had with Tad. He did say he liked the clip I used to attach my photos to my application (a tiny binder clip with a flower pattern, in case you were wondering) and I told him that it was my gift to him. He clipped it to his jeans pocket.

Matt, my line-mate, got misty-eyed before Tad even made it over to him. It was, I think, a combination of nerves and thinking about his dad, whose picture he had brought with him. I gave him a little side-hug, but I kept thinking: save the tears for Tad! Save the tears for Tad!

Ultimately, our time with Tad lasted only about 20 minutes. But it was a great 20 minutes. I thought my line-mates and I all did well representing ourselves, and we were told we'd know if we were going to get a callback within two hours. As we walked out of Gardner-White, it seemed impossible that the day was finally over. I was exhausted, sore, starving, and still half-frozen--but I was on top of the world. I hugged Matt, Noel, and Lynda goodbye and we all exchanged numbers. Then I got in my car and drove home, feeling more hopeful and happy than I have in months.

Alas, I did not get a callback. I don't know if any of my line-mates did, either. But I hope they did. And even though I'm probably not going to be on the Biggest Loser, I am inspired--and in the long run, that may be worth more than $250,000.