My first day on American Gladiators

And I’m going to do all of this in Spandex, while my childhood idol, Hulk Hogan who hosts the show tries not to laugh at me, or maybe kick me in the head with his big boot.

But the problem that I keep having with all of this fear is that I really want to do this. When I was a kid, my parents took me to a doll and gun show so that I could get original Gladiator, Diamond’s autograph. After I complimented her watch and recognized that it was Gucci, she kissed my forehead and told me I had such a cute smile. I’d seen every episode of this show in its original airing, because it came on before WWF Superstars of Wrestling, both of which I’d watch in my bed with a box of Tostitos and a boner. In another body, with what my junior high school wrestling coach, Mr. Barboza called “better coordination and a more aggressive urge to win” being a contender on this show was my wildest dream as a kid. There was something about sliding down a zip line that seemed exclusive to me, and since I only wrestled for two days before faking a broken toe, that televised zip drop would show Mr. Barboza that I didn’t need his paltry wrestling team to make me a winner.

And although I’m sure I will lose on this show, the idea that I could actually be in the same little TV box that I watched this show on makes me hopeful just long enough to go online and look for a pair of Spanx to hide my loose skin, the battle scar reminder of all the hard work I did to lose this weight.

Since there is no overnight shipping on man-girdles, I have taken to enemas this morning, and I can’t get off the toilet. I’m late now but muster the strength to get in my car and drive to the LA Sports Arena, shivering more and more the closer I get to Figueroa and 10th in Downtown Los Angeles. Listening to “Eye of the Tiger” on the way is not helping any, because the banging drums and guitar riffs are making my heart beat faster. As I get out of the car a very young and beautiful production assistant with an earpiece and a name badge that says “Sandy, Day Runner” runs over to me. Without saying hello she blurts, “I need to sequester you” and grabs the Hulk Hogan stuffed doll out of my hand as I take it out of my car. “What is this?” She asks.

“I was hoping he might be able to sign the back of it. I’ve had it since I was 11.”