Dear Jillian Michaels, My Long Overdue Love Letter
I’m sorry — it’s always been you
Dear Jillian Michaels,
We’ve been through a lot together. Me and you. You and me. I’d see you after work with friends, and we’d sweat and curse and laugh. Those friends were enamored with your tenacity for strength and image of female power. You were the glue that kept us together. Then, I moved to another country and continent. The two of us promised and vowed that we would, we could make it through this. Together, we were stronger, fiercer. We’d have to wait for a full 30-days until we could “shred” together again, alone, in my living room. We were so seductive, so incredibly sensual together in our spandex. We were prepared for the distance, the waiting. My new place had eyes everywhere, and we needed privacy. It was hard to find. I’d have to draw all the shades. I’d lay the mat on the floor to initiate comfort and set the scene for our stage, our performance. I’d watch you above, me on the floor, your toned abs and perfectly oiled muscles. I was infatuated. I wanted to be you. We stayed together.
I left for a while. It’s a bad habit I have. Ask anyone who’s ever been unlucky enough to be in a relationship with me. I’m a bad omen. I ate and drank and thought of you every day. I’d say, “Tomorrow. I’ll love you again tomorrow.” The next day would come, and then it would go. I’d said nothing. In my sadness, I packed on some pounds. I carried them around as I did the weight of my aching heart. I was unfaithful to you with the goddess at CycleBar. She showed me a different kind of exercise, if you know what I mean. I wish you didn’t — didn’t know. I hope you do know how my cruel heart has broken and wants to beg for your forgiveness. After the thrill of being seduced by such a deity had died down, still, I missed you. I craved our routine — our everyday. We fit together, functioned together like Jane Fonda and leg warmers. Perfection. We were as fucking strong as women should be — together. We were irrevocable.
Eventually, I succumbed to my deepest desire. I called you. I told you I wanted you; I needed you. And just like a simple push of a button, you reappeared in my world. Everyone could tell. I was so much happier. They said things like, “Wow! You look great!” Or, “Have you done something different? You seem — better.” Whatever that meant. Compliments like this were tossed my way by family, friends, mere acquaintances; you name it. THAT is how much you have imprinted on me.
I couldn’t see you after work anymore. My life had become too complicated. You came to me in the wee hours of the morning. No one else was awake or around but the birds and the smell of the morning dew. I had you all to myself. You remember that I feel my feistiest when the sun begins to rise. I had all the energy in the world for you. And, you, you had even more for me. I took your current, that live wire you sent through my body, and let it electrify me throughout the day — consuming me. I knew you were the reason for it all.
You’d say things like, “It’s time to take it up another notch.” I was scared — my fear of commitment and pain. I tried, I really did. You told me to “push!” You wanted my “heart rate to soar.” I fucking flew, Jillian. I pushed — hard. I was panting and out of breath, but I felt so alive, still electrified. Being with you again like this, my body feels it all. “Get as deep as you can into that movement… hold onto it,” you’d say. I got deep, we both got deep, and I held on — tight. Those abs, girl. Damn. I’d be on the floor, ass to the ceiling; you’d tell me, “Slow. Up and down, up and down, pull, squeeze….” I made every move count. I hope you know that. No one tried harder than me to please you.
We no longer share our life together. I went back to the other side, but it’s ruining me, J. Remember when I’d call you that? I want to be back on your team with “your girl” Natalie and my girl, Anita. I want to say, “I’m sorry.” Every part of my body has missed you — deeply. I want you back. I need you back. You know how hard it is for me to beg.
Tomorrow morning, I will leave the front door unlocked. I’ll be waiting for you if you can find it in your big, beautiful heart, tucked just above those sexy abs, to forgive me. I will be in my living room, our mat ready for my body — between the coffee table and the television. You know the place. I hope you’ve been well. I’ve fallen apart without you. Come back to me, Jillian. Please, come back. Like you always say, “We don’t quit at the end.”
Loving you and longing for you,
Heather
