Prod Boy: An Exercise Tale

I've seen something strange the last few years. Every year about the middle of December I start seeing articles and ads about new year's resolutions to lose weight. They are everywhere on the radio, the television, plastered all over the Internet. By the middle of February these ads have all but vanished.

I'm no chump. I know our economy works on the principle of supply and demand. The pill pushers and fast talking exercise equipment salesmen are out there because there is a huge demand for them during the close of the old year and the opening of the new. Then they all but vanish, replaced by Super Sized Super Sunday party ads. This leaves only one possible conclusion: demand has dried up.

Somewhere among all the all the hype is the secret to fulfilling a years worth of weight loss goals in just over thirty days. This year I decided I must find it. My quest starts on December 31, 2007.

I'm at the local Bulge Mart, and I think I've waited too late. If the new Flab Blaster 3X pills are the answer, I'm out of luck. All that's left of the store's supply is a grinning card board muscle man and a gaping void on the shelf between the Slim X Super Xtreme and the Meltdown Mega Shakes. I'll try a couple other stores, but it looks like I'll be at the gym in the morning.

January 1, 2008 5:30 am.

Having driven half the night looking for Flab Blaster, I'm a little bleary eyed as I stand in a large crowd waiting for the doors to open. There are over two dozen of us but no one is talking. Maybe it's the cold. It's little more than thirty degrees and a lot of these people are in shorts. Just before the doors open, there is some pointing and whispering. One of the skeletons moving behind the smoky glass has stopped adjusting the scales and is coming our way. People are pointing at what looks like a cattle prod dangling from a strap on his wrist. Surely not. They wouldn't do that would they?

The doors open, and we stampede in. With the help of a lady named Barbie, Cow Prod Boy (I can't remember his real name) forms us into lines for the scales. There is a lot of weeping. Friendships forged of shared sorrow and lamented cheesecake are born within the span of a few moments. It's a truly beautiful thing.

Once the weigh in is over, Prod Boy explains that the prod is not actually a prod. It is, in truth, a highly advanced, Fit Fun Freestyle Motivational Wand. This makes me feel much better about the two-hundred dollar joining fee and the six year contract. It might even be the secret I'm looking for.

We take a short break before starting the workout. Several people go outside to smoke. The rest of us just mill around the vending machine, munching energy bars to get prepared.

They guide us back together and line us up on the treadmills a few minutes later. Within moments the sounds of panting and huffing fill the air. There is the occasional yelp as Prod Boy applies his Motivation Wand to someone who is lagging behind.

After about twenty minutes, everyone is panting and huffing. The crackle of the Motivator is nearly ceaseless. It was then that I noticed something strange. The huffing and puffing seemed to have an odd sort of rhythm to it. I'm no chump. I know all about the secret brb and lol codes the cool kids use, so it doesn't take me long to figure this out. The seemingly meaningless puffing is actually a message of some sort, hidden in elaborate code. Through a combination of rhythm analysis and careful observation, I crack the code. It's a chant: Prod Boy Must Die.

I synchronize my own labored panting and join in. I turn to the woman beside me and we share a smile. This secret keeps me so excited and energized that I only get Motivated twice during the rest of the workout. I huff out our secret chant the whole way home and I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

The next few days are much the same. There isn't much talk among us, but we keep up our chant and exchange what, on the surface, looks like polite obligatory smiles. But we know. With every electrical burn he inflicts on us, Prod Boy is hammering one more nail into his coffin.

By the tenth day, a few people have dropped away. That made me really sad because it was a great day. Everyone acted like nothing had changed. Except everything had changed. Prod Boy was Gone! Even in our secret language of wheezes and gasps no one was saying who was responsible. I made the mistake of huffing out a couple tentative questions about it. Huff, Wheeze, Gasp , Gasp, Wheeze. All I got was some strange looks. I learned my lesson.

By day fifteen we don't 'talk' as much. People have started to bring their mp3 players and are ignoring the rest of us. Each day I find one or two people to talk code with. Wheeze Wheeze, Huff, Gasp. Then the next day they are wearing headphones also.

It's about day twenty-six when I really start to notice it. So many people have just vanished. It was hard to notice at first because there have been some newcomers. Whatever the secret is, it must work fast. I know some of the missing hadn't reached their goal even a day earlier. It must be something you take or eat after the workout. I've seen a lot of people hitting the vending machines after the workout, but I don't think Bob's Fire Flavor Pork rinds are the answer. I mean I guess they could be, but something doesn't feel right about that. I'm no chump though, so I make a mental note to watch more closely and see if people purchase the savory skins before they stop showing up.

On day thirty, I'm feeling like a chump. My original team is completely gone, just me and the new people are showing up. I think I must have been quietly ostracized from the group when I asked about Prod Boy. Speaking of Prod Boy, that's the worst part! They must not have finished the job, because he's back again! At least I can teach them the chant. Huff, Huff, Wheeze, Wheeze, Huff...