A Bigger Loser

I can not, will not, shall not watch The Biggest Loser.

No matter how much I love Jillian Michaels, I won't do it.  Not even if I hear the beautiful bleeps that let me know that she is cussing someone a new one and more than likely making him cry will I set foot in the room.

Even though I love physical fitness and extreme makeovers, I just shouldn't subject myself to this show.

Despite the fact that I adore my husband and he adores the show, it is not in my best interest to watch, no matter how badly he wants me to sit down with him.

"Why?" You might ask.

Because I'm pregnant, and feeling very sensitive and a tad bit vulnerable.  And I burst into tears no fewer than four times just watching the pilot episode.  Four too many (possibly more) perfectly good cries used last night, and I'm already a mushy mess as it is.

 I literally cried when they made the brand-new contestants run a mile because it broke my heart to see how hard it was (and I really felt for them, being a little larger than normal myself...).  I cried when one of the girls couldn't move on in the competition because she had an asthma attack that literally floored her.  I teared up at another contestant who was so kind to her.  But then I really bawled at the poor woman who lost her three year-old son to cancer because he was the cutest little black baby-son I have ever seen.  I literally had to leave the room and get into the shower, where I wept most of the time I washed.

And that's when I decided.  NO.  I absolutely should not be watching this show.
(See you next week, Bob and Jillian.)