Close Encounters of the Richard Simmons Kind

In the United States, we have a few quirky rules. Don't wear white after Labor Day for instance. One of the most unusual concerns our health program. No, I'm not talking about health care again. This is much more than that. The rule is that once one stretches to a certain girth, that person must either go on the Oprah Show, or meet Richard Simmons.

If one chooses the Richard route, we do have some addendums to this rule. It's not as simple as saying "Yo, Richard Simmons, what's up?"

It's much more involved than that. Once uber fatness is attained, one must sweat with Richard, and then hug him, and then cry--not necessarily in that order.

I achieved the weight limit, and so, a few years ago, I had to meet Richard Simmons. Quiet down. I don't make up the rules, I just follow them.

So off to some hotel in New Jersey I trudged, knowing I had to face the inevitable. The gallows seemed a more pleasant thought.



I did what was required-- yeah, I sweated to the oldies with Richard. This isn't really that much of an accomplishment because I can work up a good sweat opening a jar of pickles.

As bad as working out with a few hundred fellow corpulent rogues was, I then had to meet Richard, one on one.

I'm not big on hugging guys, but I can assure you, hugging a sweaty Richard Simmons wearing his 1970's style glitter-enhanced NBA short shorts was awkward and uncomfortable to say the very least.

And then I had to tell him my story. Richard began to cry and sweat on me.

Then Richard made what I thought was an extremely nice gesture. Maybe my day would be ok after all. He gave me a card with a phone number on it. He said to call, it was his personal number, and when I was ready to make a change in my life, to just give him a call. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I had lost my father shortly before this, and this kindness was just enough to put me over the emotional edge.



I thought about that day for weeks. Maybe Richard Simmons wasn't such a tool. Perhaps he wasn't a slimy, money grubbing shill.

I hemmed and hawed. Finally, I mustered up the courage to call.

I nervously pushed the buttons on the phone. The phone rang. The anticipation was palpable as I wondered who would answer.

His assistant? Some answering service who would page Richard so I could talk to him?

Richard himself?





No, it was the sales office for



I should have known better.

My home gym