Alfred made sure he had his keys, his wallet, the gym bag he'd packed. He had to completely cover himself in deodorant, making sure to get underneath the folds of fat and skin. He'd also bought the biggest athletic clothes he could find…which were, to no surprise, available at Hero-Mart. As he climbed into his SUV, he readjusted his stomach- the fat was always squishing up against the steering wheel, even with the seat pushed all the way back- and he closed the door, turning the key into the ignition.

There was already a lot of shakiness, nervousness, and nausea. He considered not going at all, but decided against it. This was, after all, for his well-being. He couldn't possibly continue on like this. To help him cope with the fear, he popped in a CD. It was a mix CD that included patriotic classic rock songs from John Cougar Melloncamp, Sammy Hagar, Bruce Springsteen, Don McLean and even "Don't Tread On Me" by Metallica. His sausage-fingers tapped against the wheel as he was driving. Please let today run smoothly. I know it's gonna be hard, but I'm tough as nails! Yeah!

He pulled into the drive of "Fett Nicht Mehr", using the closest spot available to the door. Wobbling in, he reached the front counter, his face red from the embarrassment of even being seen here. There were perfectly great-looking people using exercise equipment all over the mega-sized facility. He thought he'd be greeted by some tacky, waif of a female secretary, but the head fitness coach stopped barking at a man on a treadmill to move faster and jogged over to the American.

"Wilkommen to Fett Nicht Mehr! You can call me Ludwig, ja? I'm the Fitness coach around here. The place is run by me and my Nutrition Specialist, who"-

"Who is right here!" Out from nowhere came a very thin, bouncy-looking man with the smile of a serial killer. "Is this the new arrival? Oh, he's a fat on"-

Ludwig turned on his heels. "Gilbert! What did I say to you about insulting our clients!"

"What? It's worked for everyone else here. Look how thin they are now!" He pointed to the people on the equipment. "My awesome motivational skills have worked wonders on these people. Like see that chick there on the elliptical? She used to be HUGE." His eyes grew wide with mock fascination as he said it.

Alfred suddenly wasn't feeling so sure about this place. It seemed strange, but then he had been told it was a new facility, just opened two or three years ago. The ad he'd seen in the phone book looked great. He was just afraid of failing. Taking a deep breath, he looked around. "So, what first?"

First, Ludwig made special care to make Alfred sign all of the proper documents and pay for his membership. The first six months were at half-rate if paid in advance, so it was a mere one hundred fifty bucks to start. Once that was squared away, the fitness instructor faced Gilbert. "I'll call you back over when you're needed. Go back to…whatever it was you were doing."

The slimmer man saluted. "Ja, herr!"

Rollling his eyes, Ludwig pulled out a tape measure, snapping it with a grin. "First I will measure you, perform a water displacement test, and have you to some strength, flexibility, and speed exercises. We need to figure out a starting point for your training. Now…stand up straight, lift your arms."

Alfred felt like this was a bit of trouble to go through, but the German barked at him. "Lift those arms higher!" The American complied quickly.

"Okay, okay…let's see. Waist…53 and one half inches. This with your height alone tells me where to class you. We have a lot of work to do."

"Class me?"

"Ja. Something tells me you can handle hearing it. You are suffering from class III obesity. It means that more than half of your weight is fat." Silently, he continued measuring Alfred, letting the shock set in.

The American's face was pale. More than half of what he was carrying around was fat? That couldn't be right, could it? He was beginning to wonder if this place were more adverse to his health if anything. He felt like he could have had a heart attack.

"What is the ideal waist measurement for my height then?"

"Well, it varies some from person to person. No two bodies are exactly the same, but I would say 27-35 inches is ideal, depending on if you have a slim or muscular build. I can't yet see the frame underneath, so let's just focus on getting those first 3 and one half inches off of you, okay?" His face actually softened for a moment from its usual rigid expression. Ludwig didn't train others because he was a control freak, but rather because he loved it when people made progress, when they could see the bodies they'd been hiding all along…their true selves. Ludwig, to put it bluntly, secretly loved making other people happy, and this was the best way he knew how.

Next, Alfred was brought to the water displacement tank. Depending on how much the water in the tank rises with him in it, his body fat percentage could be calculated. The results were astounding, to say the least. Flicking his pen so that the end popped in and out, Ludwig sighed. "You are doing the right thing by being here. Right now, your body is in very poor shape. When the body carries this much excess weight, the risks of diabetes, heart failure, weak liver function, and death are very high. But do not fret, we can fix that. I might be a little harsh on you in our training, but it's for the best, ja?"

The American wondered how harsh that could possibly be, and nodded his understanding. Alfred failed to measure up in many other tests too, and when he was asked to run as far as he possible could without being short of breath, he couldn't even run fifty meters without being out of breath and whining about knee pain. This was going to be difficult, indeed.

The German whistled, and in scampered Gilbert. "What is it, bro?"

"Bro?"

"Ja, Gilbert is my younger brother. Couldn't you tell?"

Alfred shook his head. "No." The American was already tired, and was really really craving those twinkies he had back at home.

"Okay, listen here fats"-

"His name is Alfred."

"Oh, right. Alfred 'Fatso' Jones… I am going to ask you some questions about what you eat, make some crude remarks, then figure out what the hell you should be eating from now on. If it's too strict, too bad- you'll have to suck it up."

How blunt and straightforward can this guy possibly get?

"Okay. Typical day. What do you eat? Tell me EVERYTHING. I'll know if you're lying. Go."

"Let's see…" Usually Alfred just ate whatever whenever and didn't pay much attention to what it was. "I had some eggs and bacon with biscuits and gravy, orange juice, two cinnamon rolls, and some milk for breakfast. Lunch was a salami sub from Super Sub…with bacon, provolone, extra cheese, some kind of sauce…and a bag of chips…I had a large soda with that. Dinner was…spaghetti with meatballs and sauce, garlic bread, more soda. What were my snacks? Two candy bars, king size, more chips, probably about five or six oreos with chocolate milk…That might be it? I think…"

The Prussian's eyes were wide with shock. "I think that's more calories than I eat in a week. Rough calculation says…" He tapped in numbers wildly. "Okay, over-exaggeration a bit. But I think you could eat half that and not even miss it. Are you an emotional eater? You know…do you get a little emo and try to distract yourself by eating?"

"Sometimes I do." Alfred sighed. "Everyone used to depend on me and I was so cool. Now I'm nobody, and when I remember that, it seems like a good old burger, the testament to my youth, is the only thing that makes me feel happy again."

"Well duh, now wonder you've ballooned, fatty. You need to find a healthier outlet for your eating! I recommend exercise, but if you are bored and already worked out that day, find some other hobby. Invent a hobby if you have to, as long as it doesn't involve making you even bigger. Got it?"

Alfred nodded his head. He couldn't really think of anything he wanted to do at the moment, but maybe he could come up with something.

By the time he had arrived home with written instructions for his new meal plan and a card that had his next appointment date written on it, he was dog tired. He barely made his way through the door before the thought of a nap crossed his mind, but then he noticed that his phone's receiver was lighting up. Someone had called him and left a message. Believing at first that it was probably a telemarketer, he stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to hit the 'play' button. Curiosity overrode him now, and when he heard the voice on the recording, he was glad it had…