Losing to Win by Michele Grant Page B

of how much I needed to lose weekly and monthly.
    Then we had been given three bites of granola, a piece of turkey sausage, and a small bowl of fruit for breakfast. No coffee. No tea. Carrot-ginger juice, which I hated at first sip.
    â€œNiecy, what has been your favorite part of the day so far?” Marcy, the associate producer, asked from off camera.
    Niecy and I exchanged glances before she answered with considerable sass. “Could there be anything more fun than being squeezed into spandex and weighed on camera?” We snickered at the remembered humiliation because at this point, what else could we do but laugh? Along the way, between housing and granola, we had been introduced to what they called the “weigh-in ceremony.” Yes, the reality was as much fun as you’d think. We were lined up in front of the panel and, of course, the omnipresent cameras. The panel consisted of Jim, the trainers, the nutritionists, and a guest judge. We were spared a guest judge today but had that to look forward to in the weeks to come. When your name was called, you stepped forward onto the invisible scale. On the huge screen behind the panel, they flashed your starting weight, your current weight, and your goal weight. This went into a formula with your age and created a point total that would be deducted from your final score. Since the person with the highest point total won, you clearly wanted this number to be low. The more weight you lost, the better your chances to win. Good times.
    â€œWhat about you, Carissa? What’s been your favorite moment so far?”
    â€œOh, the two straight hours of cardio—for sure. Nothing says summertime fun like an hour of the elliptical machine followed by bicycling and treadmill.”
    â€œHow are you feeling?”
    I spoke the answer that popped in my head. “My thighs are still quivering and I truly believe the only reason thighs should quiver is if multiple orgasms are imminent.”
    â€œRissa!” Niecy barked out a laugh and nudged me with her shoulder. “You realize you just said that on camera.”
    â€œOh, shit.” I kept forgetting that I shouldn’t put quite so much real into this reality show. “Can you edit out the orgasm part?”
    Marcy shook her head, eyes twinkling. “I think you can count on that making the final cut.”
    I closed my eyes. “My mother is going to see that. Think before I speak. Got it.” I opened my eyes and smiled. “Anything else, or can Niecy and I go munch on the seaweed and celery we’re no doubt getting for lunch?”
    â€œOne last thing. What are your thoughts about the rooming situation?” Marcy asked.
    Niecy piped up, “We didn’t live in the dorms after freshman year when we were in college, so you can imagine how excited we are to live in one now.”
    I nodded with much attitude. “And having us share suites with our partners? Nice. I see you all have this rigged for maximum dramatic potential.”
    Clearly Marcy was on a fishing expedition. “Does it bother you being in close quarters with Malachi, your ex-fiancé?”
    I shot her a look. “You know, you could stand to be a wee bit more subtle. I’m not taking the bait. Whose idea was it for partners to share suites?”
    Marcy smiled. “We thought that would foster solidarity between the teams.”
    â€œYou thought it would cause more drama,” Niecy corrected.
    Sensing she’d gotten all she was going to get from us, Marcy signaled the cameras off. “Thanks, ladies, lunch is being served in the cafeteria and then you have your first competition this afternoon.”
    â€œOh, goodie.” Niecy smirked. “I can’t wait.”

    As I lay face down in a shallow pond of what I hoped was just mud, I again wondered how my life had come to this. Raising my face and arms toward the heavens, I railed. “Seriously, Jesus? What did I do to deserve