Why My Dad Is The Biggest Loser
While the rest of you were busy being super cool and trendy and watching totally awesome TV that absolutely is not The Biggest Loser, my dad was busy…not doing that. Yes, America and Nielsen, my father's household is one of those precious viewers who has been so decisively slipping away from you on Sunday and Monday nights, or whenever it is that you'll ultimately decide to air this esteemed programme.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that my dad isn't the best, because he absolutely is. He's absolutely my favorite person on the planet, but cool he is not. He wears socks with sandals, enjoys running marathons, calls baths ‘wife soup', and until a year and a half ago, earnestly believed that there was a musical artist named ‘Just A Beaver'. He is an undeniable loser, and I don't even love him in spite of it, I love him because of it. Because I'm a loser too. And I can prove it because we're both still watching The Biggest Loser. And loving it. So get over it.
This is Season 14, and I've taken a couple years off from the franchise to nurture my own tasteful belly pooch and thunder thighs away from the watchful eyes of the trainers. So because of my absence, I didn't even know that Jillian Michaels had left the show, but thank god she's back, because I'm obsessed with her. As is my happily-married dad, if I remember correctly, but we'll get to that later in the season, I can almost guarantee it.
Now we're not entirely sure if you Crushable readers will be interested in reading recaps of The Biggest Loser (tell us what you waaaaaant!), so we decided to maybe get a little gimmicky, put a little edge on it, we don't know, okay?!? But our idea was to have my dad watch the show and provide lovably out-of-touch, affably-snarky commentary. The kind of commentary I've come to rely on him to provide in every situation. In this way, I could delegate the job I'm getting paid to do to someone who's not getting paid to do it, and who also has to stay up significantly past his preferred bedtime to watch the TWO HOUR SEASON PREMIERE. Plus another ENTIRE HOUR tonight as well. That seems like a reasonable request, right? Right. He warned me that he might not stay awake the whole time, and that he'd probably be switching back and forth between The Good Wife, so he apologized in advance if any Chicago-based legal commentary got involved. I was excited to see how that post would turn out.
But instead, he actually liked it. The message he left on my phone was apologetic:
“Well I stayed up for the whole thing and I'm afraid I don't have anything amusing to say. I think the show sucked me in, I think they did a great job of somehow changing it. I really want everyone to succeed, I'm not cynical. I don't know what to tell ya…gee. I really hope everybody makes their goals and loses the weight, and I hope the kids make it. And I hope you write a really good story tomorrow despite me being a sucker for the show!”
What. A. LOSER. Ugh. But you know what? I actually agree with him. I was pleasantly surprised by how invested I got. We agree that the right people went home — Nikki for not being ready to do the work and giving up, and TC, for figuring it out too late and not dedicating himself the way I would've expected. Especially with his back-story of his body mass crushing his child's skull after a seat malfunction in a car accident, I thought he'd be much more motivated, but he didn't figure it out until the next day, and by then he'd already missed a full workout. Hard to come back from. We both love the fact that they have kids on the show and they're not using them as gimmicks. It seems like they want them to succeed, and so do I now. I successfully held myself back from welling up until…minute sixteen. Ugh. You've ensnared me again, NBC. Not my proudest hour.
But you know what? I will wear this addiction proudly, like a badge of honor. My dad and I are still watching The Biggest Loser, aka we ourselves are the biggest losers. Eh, y'know what? At least I'm in good company. Pass the kale chips. Or the Ben and Jerry's. Whichever's closest to your hand.