To Libby’s abject horror, at my last weigh-in I had gained a kilo and now weighed 71 kilograms rather than the usual 70. Therefore the loss of the extra kilogram was my top priority, Libby had put it on top of my weekly list in size 26 double bold font with a picture of a fat purple monster next to it to give me extra motivation.
According to Libby’s schedule, I was supposed to be having lunch now, and as I was hungry it seemed as following her instructions was the best thing to do, so went downstairs. While I did most of the housework — although Libby would re-do any tasks she thought not up to standard — the kitchen was Libby’s domain. If she could, she would fence it off to keep me out.
Libby prepared all meals in the house, meticulously laying out all the ingredients and weighing and measuring them, using an app on her phone to calculate the kilojoules in each portion. Today for lunch I had a quinoa and spinach salad, with tofu, celery and watercress and no dressing, washed down with water. Yum, what a treat! As I took it from the fridge, I looked at the two small bottles of beer remaining from a six pack on the top shelf.
As part of my wife’s diet plan for me she allowed me one treat drink on a Saturday and one treat dessert on Wednesday evening. Libby decreed that I was allowed to have three scoops of regular yoghurt rather than diet yoghurt with my fresh fruit each Wednesday evening after dinner, and drink a stubby of beer each Saturday evening. Once I finished a six pack of beer, I was not allowed to go to the bottle shop until the next Saturday afternoon and due to drink beer again. It was Thursday, so I was eagerly anticipating drinking the amber fluid in two days’ time.
Libby didn’t like me eating in my study, but she wasn’t there so what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, so took my tofu salad and water up to my desk and again tried to get back to work. I was way behind, obviously going off into the city and stalking my wife wasn’t included on the daily schedule she set for me. But still I could not concentrate, and rather than doing my work looked at the internet pages for my wife’s growing health and fitness empire and her social media pages.
Most of the comments were glowing endorsements of how Fitness Queen Libby had changed their lives and helped them become happier, fitter and thinner. Some of the comments were obsessive and cult-like, suggesting that those who left them had bigger issues in their lives than weight and fitness. One woman went so far as to say without Libby she wouldn’t have the will to live.
However, it wasn’t the praise I was after it was the negative comments about my wife I sought out. On one weight loss website a woman had commented that she had read Libby’s books and followed her online advice and actually gained weight, obviously not at all happy about the situation. Another guy complained about the business practices of the gyms she and her family owned, saying that he had joined one down at Frankston and after having negative experiences there, had money deducted from his bank account months after cancelling and had trouble getting this stopped and the money refunded.
Some other comments about my wife on other sites were even less complimentary. On one social media site there was a promotional video of Libby and her squad — including of course Todd in a black tank top and very short shorts — exercising in scenic spots up in Sydney. They were in the Domain, around Sydney Harbour with the Bridge and Opera House behind them, and at Bondi, Manly and Cronulla Beaches. I remembered when they went up to New South Wales to film it, I thought I would be free of Libby for a week. Unfortunately, my wife left me a list of chores to be completed while she was away, and thanks to modern technology called me on my phone at every chance she got to make sure I was doing them.
Many of the comments on the video were the same fawning, cult-like praise seen on others about how wonderful Libby was. Perhaps she would be nominated for sainthood? Others were definitely of a sexual nature, from pervy guys. One guy reckoned my wife had the best arse in Australia, and my wife’s bum in the video definitely looked good clad in Lycra. Another guy posted that whenever he saw Libby Larson he had to go to his bedroom and roll up his sleeves, making sure that he had plenty of tissues. Others were more basic, calling her ‘hot’, ‘sexy’, a ‘MILF’ and ‘a cougar’. One young man stated how he wanted to get my wife pregnant, and another obviously didn’t want her to get pregnant, as his fantasy in life was to be one of Libby’s tampons. Um, okay ….. Was he related to the other guy who said he wanted to be my wife’s toilet paper?
However, one comment had generated an interesting discussion, commencing with a woman posting, ‘I went school with this bitch’. Two of Libby’s fans had immediately come to the defense of their idol, but one guy had thought to clarify the comment and asked what Libby was like as a teenager at high school. The opening poster had replied that she was a stuck up diva, obsessed with winning at any cost and walked around high school thinking that her shit didn’t stink.
Then came more comments, one from somebody who went to her gym before she became famous calling Libby ‘a complete cow, nothing more, nothing less.’ Two former students chimed in, recounting experiences from when Libby was a high school PE teacher. One girl said she was a control freak who ridiculed girls who were no good at sports, openly favored the ones who were and was over-competitive to the point of insanity. A boy said that he entered high school in Year 7 very overweight, and that he couldn’t swim. PE teacher Libby had ridiculed him for not being able to swim in front of the entire class, boys and girls, and then fat shamed him, saying he shouldn’t be afraid of the water as fat floats, then stood back amused as a group of Year 10 boys who had heard all of this threw him in the deep end of the pool and dragged him under with them.
This bullying behavior seemed to date back before this to when Libby was at school herself. Another guy posted how he had gone to Libby as she was girls’ house captain and head female prefect as he was being bullied by older boys, most of whom were prefects too. Libby had apparently said she would advise the school authorities of the bullying, and also suggested that she join him in private in a pine plantation after school so she could teach him techniques of handling bullies’ mean comments. Not only did Libby fail to report the bullying, but from out of the trees came the bullies, who Libby had told about the boy’s claims. Libby and her female friends then watched as the bullies taught the boy a lesson about what happens to boys who are dobbers and wimps who can’t take a bit of fun.
Another comment was not only critical of Libby, but of me too. It was from a woman who claimed to be a former waitress and how at a restaurant Libby had gone through the ingredients of several dishes on the menu, sending back one she didn’t like and rudely demanding to speak to the manager, ‘all while her useless husband sat there and did nothing.’ I remembered the incident, although it was one of many.