You’re Fat (2) . . .

“My husband has a death wish,” she said, as I entered the office. “I need your help.” 

“Why would you say a thing like that?” 

“He’s in the hospital.” 

“What for?” 

“I dropped him off,” she said, looking at her watch. “He was gasping for air. They’ve been running tests all morning.”

“Did he have any other symptoms besides shortness of breath?” 

“No, he just complains that his knees hurt.” 

“I’m not a doctor, but it can’t be agonal breathing.” 


“Agonal respiration would be evident if he were having a stroke. If as you stated, he only had shortness of breath and suffers from arthritis of the knee, I must conclude that your husband is fat.” 

“Yes,” she bellowed, fiddling with her watch. “He is over 450 pounds. You simply have to help us.” 

“Christy, what would you have me do?” 

“You’re a personal trainer!” 

“I can’t help your husband.” 


“He doesn’t want my help.” 

She stared at her watch. “How do you know? You haven’t met him.” 

“I can tell a great deal just by observing you.” 

“What can you tell?” 

“No doubt he has suffered with being fat for a good number of years. He’s had a personal trainer in the past. Perhaps even shedding a few pounds, before returning to his behemoth size”

“So, what if he did?” 

“A man force to do something against his will; once the impetus has been removed, returns to whence he came firmer still.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You have been the driving force in wanting him to lose weight.” 


“Until you let go, and let him reach the conclusion that his corpulence is affecting his health, all your efforts will be in vain.” 

“You help everyone else,” she shouted. “Are you afraid your reputation will be tarnished if you fail to help my husband?” 

“One’s reputation comes and go with whatever an individual chooses to divulge to another. A degree of failure is imbedded in every endeavor, how else would one know when he or she has succeeded?” 

“Then you will help him!” 

“That I cannot promise. However, since you have placed so much faith in my prowess as a personal trainer, I will meet—.”

She looked nervously at her watch. “They’re keeping him!” 

“A precautionary, but customary practice, to ensure they haven’t missed anything.” 

“I have to go!” 

I watched as she haphazardly reached for her scarf and coat. She bolted from the office. I watched as she got in her car and sped away. All of a sudden, a foreboding thought pervaded my brain . . . 

B.M.Booth (NASM-CPT)


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