Inspired By Marion, Gyms Gyrate To Fatsos Pursuing The Dream

Sydney Morning Herald

Monday October 9, 2000

SALLY LOANE

After watching the world's fittest and most fabulous bodies, many are heading for the gym in the hope of transforming the body of Fatso the Fat-Arsed Wombat into something like Tatiana's.

Ever since the big O ended, my gym has been playing reruns of Roy Slaven and HG Nelson, which is entirely appropriate in a place where most of us doggedly pursue The Dream of attaining a body like Tatiana's while steadfastly remaining like Fatso the Fat-Arsed Wombat. But at least the boys take your mind off the pain of the never-ending journey on the treadmill.

I don't know if it's my imagination but are more of us working out in these post-Olympic times? After two glorious weeks of watching the world's fittest and most fabulous bodies with some exceptions in the weightlifting, shot putting and wrestling departments it seems that more ordinary Fatsos have been inspired to don the lycra and hit the step machine.

Trainers and aerobics instructors all over Sydney are being asked to deliver Inky's abs, Marion Jones's shoulders and Cathy Freeman's legs. And when do we want them? Now.

The day I returned to the gym after those glorious two weeks of wall-to-wall takeaways and beer and nothing more strenuous than catching trains and shuffling in queues and turning up the volume on my radio, the place was packed. So was the pool. There was even a strenuous volleyball game going on nearby. The participants looked like a normal bunch of office dags who'd swapped their Fletcher Jones trousers for their Stubbies to spin around the court in the lunch hour. They looked as though they'd picked up the finer points of the game from watching hours of Olympic volleyball matches on telly, but that didn't mean they weren't having a terrific time. The only danger in watching so much Olympic competition is that elite athletes make it all look so easy.

I was also in the gym on the first day of the Olympics when the women's triathalon was on the TV, and the sight of dozens and dozens of scrawny women with muscles like knots in cotton and zero body fat pushing themselves through unimaginable pain barriers made my own paltry discomfort pale into insignificance. In fact I was so inspired I nudged the speed on the wretched machine up a couple of notches as I watched the race and imagined I was running, step by step, with Michellie Jones. I kid you not, I felt no pain. It sure beat the usual gym fare of Oprah on the telly and mind-numbing techno-bop on the stereo.

While we may not be a more decent, friendlier place for much longer surly, mean, road rage-infected Sydney returned for me just 24 hours after the closing ceremony when a taxi driver tried to ram my car after he'd run a red light and I'd had the audacity to sound my horn but we may be left with a legacy of a fitter, less indolent population.

Just before the Olympics a new survey showed we were almost as fat as Americans with half the adult population overweight or obese and an alarming increase in the obesity of children. But judging by several callers to my radio program last week the kids are turning off the Gameboys and running outside to play at being Jai Taurima, Natalie Cook and Kerrie Pottharst.

One woman had joined tap dancing classes after watching the opening ceremony. There's already a long waiting list to try kayaking and canoeing at Penrith's Whitewater Stadium when it reopens to the public next month, and hopefully, they're lining up to join Little Athletics and community sports clubs too.

Yes, I know we're trying to be a clever country, but being fitter and healthier is a pretty good start. And we know that the more sport kids do, the less time they spend breaking into cars.

My favourite story of Olympian inspiration came from Wendy, who was so pumped up after getting home from Australia's gold medal three-day event at Horsley Park that she drew up a fitness plan and dusted off the lunge rope.

``After a week of unaccustomed early morning exercise, my horse finally jacked up," Wendy told me last Friday. ``He just refused to move."

I'd sit that horse down in front of a rerun of Darien Powers. That'll get him going.

sallyloane@hotmail.com.au