Michael Karolchyk’s War on Chubbies
by
Martin Higgins
I Jeeped up to Denver with Saliva’s Click, Click, Boom! turned up way too loud, to get in the mood for lunch with the most hated man in Colorado.
Michael Karolchyk had founded the Anti-Gym, debunking the Health Club Fitness Racket – sign up in January, give up in March, then keep paying for the rest of the year. He threw pastries at fat slackers in his Anti-Gym enraging obese clients and junk food junkies. His anti-social coup de coup de grâce was the phrase, “You’ll never get a hubby if you’re a chubby!” which alienated every woman who suffers a love/hate relationship with her mirror.
Michael received daily voicemail death threats and Boulder feminists issued a seek and destroy fatty fatwa against him. His response? “Feminists? Bearded ladies. The cure for Viagra overdose…” Not that he cared about being hated; mind you, he embraced it. “It’s the risk you take when you’re honest about losing weight, body image and commitment.”
We met at an upscale restaurant that had adopted one of Michael’s low-carb menus. He had Steak Tartare, I had a double Jack, neat.
I was fascinated by his take-no-prisoners media savvy. He hired fat people to picket his gym, then harangued them with a bullhorn. “PUT DOWN THE DONUTS!” His “Trainer You Love To Hate” image was deemed politically incorrect and the hounds set in.
The media – print, radio and television – smelled audience-grabbing controversy and gave him a fortune in exposure. Michael wore a t-shirt emblazoned with No Chubbies! prompting interviewers ask why he needed to be so rude. “Obesity is approaching 50% of the population,” he said, “it’s time to dump the cookies and sympathy.”
I knew he was right. The people who sought him out were in a life and death battle with self-deception, depression and years of terrible habits. They were the last resort crowd; a growing percentage of the country who must change their diet or die. And every day that unhealthy percentage grows larger.
So Karolchyk went on, helping people stave off diabetes and heart disease while the media slithered on to find next freakshow story.
“The most dangerous fat is between your ears!” Michael said. “Put the proper amount of fuel in your body, exercise enough to burn any excess and you can’t stay fat. Why is that so hard to understand?” I couldn’t argue with his logic, a Boot Camp-styled motivation that worked miraculously for me in the army. I realized, in the battle for life, niceties are a crutch; excuses merely baby steps back to lethal behaviors.
ddly, his detractors were primarily height-weight proportional people driven to argue for fat acceptance and understanding. Michael was blunt, “Your friend is diabetic and he sits down to a big box of sugar pastries. When is the appropriate time to say, `I love you and I don’t want you to go blind, lose a leg or have a stroke.’ at his funeral?”
I finished my drink and we shook hands. I agreed to help him. I produced his commercials; I got death threats. I produced his radio show; my car was vandalized. But I met dozens of people who spoke as one, “Michael saved my life.”
When harassment by local media execs and the bearded ladies prompted an IRS investigation, Karolchyk moved to Southern California to start a new Anti-Gym and I lost touch with him. Michael’s website now features a GoDaddy expiration notice. I guess the P.C. Police won.
Feel free to have a donut or two.
- end -
Martin Higgins worked as a New York City Narcotics cop intercepting a huge shipment of heroin until a brutal train hijacking and one of the most memorable car chases in… No. Hang on. That was the French Connection. Marty writes.
Michael Karolchyk had founded the Anti-Gym, debunking the Health Club Fitness Racket – sign up in January, give up in March, then keep paying for the rest of the year. He threw pastries at fat slackers in his Anti-Gym enraging obese clients and junk food junkies. His anti-social coup de coup de grâce was the phrase, “You’ll never get a hubby if you’re a chubby!” which alienated every woman who suffers a love/hate relationship with her mirror.
Michael received daily voicemail death threats and Boulder feminists issued a seek and destroy fatty fatwa against him. His response? “Feminists? Bearded ladies. The cure for Viagra overdose…” Not that he cared about being hated; mind you, he embraced it. “It’s the risk you take when you’re honest about losing weight, body image and commitment.”
We met at an upscale restaurant that had adopted one of Michael’s low-carb menus. He had Steak Tartare, I had a double Jack, neat.
I was fascinated by his take-no-prisoners media savvy. He hired fat people to picket his gym, then harangued them with a bullhorn. “PUT DOWN THE DONUTS!” His “Trainer You Love To Hate” image was deemed politically incorrect and the hounds set in.
The media – print, radio and television – smelled audience-grabbing controversy and gave him a fortune in exposure. Michael wore a t-shirt emblazoned with No Chubbies! prompting interviewers ask why he needed to be so rude. “Obesity is approaching 50% of the population,” he said, “it’s time to dump the cookies and sympathy.”
I knew he was right. The people who sought him out were in a life and death battle with self-deception, depression and years of terrible habits. They were the last resort crowd; a growing percentage of the country who must change their diet or die. And every day that unhealthy percentage grows larger.
So Karolchyk went on, helping people stave off diabetes and heart disease while the media slithered on to find next freakshow story.
“The most dangerous fat is between your ears!” Michael said. “Put the proper amount of fuel in your body, exercise enough to burn any excess and you can’t stay fat. Why is that so hard to understand?” I couldn’t argue with his logic, a Boot Camp-styled motivation that worked miraculously for me in the army. I realized, in the battle for life, niceties are a crutch; excuses merely baby steps back to lethal behaviors.
ddly, his detractors were primarily height-weight proportional people driven to argue for fat acceptance and understanding. Michael was blunt, “Your friend is diabetic and he sits down to a big box of sugar pastries. When is the appropriate time to say, `I love you and I don’t want you to go blind, lose a leg or have a stroke.’ at his funeral?”
I finished my drink and we shook hands. I agreed to help him. I produced his commercials; I got death threats. I produced his radio show; my car was vandalized. But I met dozens of people who spoke as one, “Michael saved my life.”
When harassment by local media execs and the bearded ladies prompted an IRS investigation, Karolchyk moved to Southern California to start a new Anti-Gym and I lost touch with him. Michael’s website now features a GoDaddy expiration notice. I guess the P.C. Police won.
Feel free to have a donut or two.
- end -
Martin Higgins worked as a New York City Narcotics cop intercepting a huge shipment of heroin until a brutal train hijacking and one of the most memorable car chases in… No. Hang on. That was the French Connection. Marty writes.
