This is Gina. Her story is to come. Stay tuned.
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If you're only here to read about my daily workout, navigate away right now. If you like good stories, stick around a bit.
This is the story of the (what's the correct phrase here? Obsession? Passion? Fetish? Let' say "healthy fascination") I have with the Phoenix Suns Dance Team. It all started when I was a junior in high school. The young men (ages 12 to 18) in our church went on a trip to watch a Suns game. It just so happened that it was the Suns Dance Team autograph night. (Of course it was. What better way for the devil to taint a church-sanctioned activity with the purpose of bonding a bunch of hormone-raging teenagers?) They handed out posters of the dance team and you could take your poster around the arena, find the girls out at their folding tables, and have them sign your poster. I got most of them to sign it. Graciously they were nice enough to be a little flirtatious, and that sure makes a skinny little dorky 17-year old feel good about himself. I was the only one brave enough to bring my poster to school the next day, and for that day I was king.
Jump ahead 16 years and the skinny little dorky kid is now a big fat dorky man. (If you haven't guessed, it's me.) I was playing basketball three times a week, but it wasn't enough to keep me in good shape, and I was really starting to let myself go. I also would watch the Phoenix Suns games as often as occasion would permit. I did not have cable so that meant only being able to watch the away games that were broadcast on local television network UPN45. Enter Gina. Gina was a typical Suns dancer, nothing to make her stand out from amongst her peers. She spent the typical two to three years with the team as the rest of them do. (Incidentally, she no longer is with them.) But somebody at UPN45 decided Gina was a standout, as it were. They hired her on to do commercial stints. "Coming up after the game, back to back episodes of Malcolm in the Middle." Kudos to UPN45. She was great. Maybe that's just my bias from a deeply engraved hormonal memory speaking. I thought everybody knew and loved Gina.
At the beginning 2007 while Gina was at the height of her advertising/marketing career and most people are setting resolutions to better themselves for the coming year, my work put on a Biggest Loser contest to motivate people to reach their goals. I knew I had a weight issue, so I signed up. Quickly I started to shed the pounds and regain my confidence. About a month into it, my good friend from work, Brad, took me to a Suns game. He has season tickets. (I'm not just calling him a good friend because I mooch Suns tickets off him every year. He's a sweet guy.) We got there a little earlier than we usually do. As we were walking down the hall to my great and wonderful astonishment I see Gina flanked by two other Suns dancers (Who were they? Who cares?) coming our way. I can't believe it. It's actually her! When she passed us I said, "Hi Gina." But I said it in a way as if I knew her. Her natural response was to say "hi" back to me. I could see in her eyes that she was trying to figure out where the heck she knew me from. I think at that moment she realized what a star she was. I continued walking and as soon as we were out of earshot Brad said, "Where in the world did that come from?" I was like, "That's Gina. Everybody knows and loves Gina."
Brad was so amused by my new found bravado that it didn't take long for the tale to spread through the office the next day. Bobby from work sent out a company email with his predictions of who would win the Biggest Loser contest. Most people figured Nate, the skinny guy, would be the runaway winner because percentage wise, the numbers should work in his favor. Bobby stated that my chances at winning the contest were about as good as my chances at getting a date with a Suns Dancer. (You cut me really deep there, Bobby.)
About a week later Brad offered me his tickets again because he couldn't go. I made up my mind to get that date with the Suns dancer, or at least a picture with one, Gina preferably. My brother-in-law Curtis and I arrived at the stadium and found some Suns dancers in short fashion. There were three of them. Gina was not among them, but no matter. I walked up to them (remember the newly found confidence) and asked if they would be kind enough to pose in a picture with me. Maybe it's part of their job description, but they were happy to oblige. Now I had the evidence I needed that I would indeed be the champion of the Biggest Loser contest. (Side note: I did win in a big way. Dropped 42 lbs. and walked away with $450.) And for a day, again, I was king.
To bring an end to this story, now every time I go to a Suns game I am not only encouraged by the people I'm with to ask the lovely ladies for a photo op, I am compelled to do so. Yes, it makes my wife jealous, but she need not worry. A pretty face could not replace the everything that she is. And secretly I bet she loves me even more because of it. The end.
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