Everyone I know is buzzing about the New York Times article that came out over the weekend discussing the “Biggest Loser” contestants and how they gain weight back after the competition is over. To be honest, it was about as shocking to me as Melisandre bringing Jon Snow back to life.

Ooops. Spoiler alert?

The contestants’ weight gain isn’t news, and shouldn’t be wowing everyone as much as it is. After season one of the show, I read a magazine article talking about the second-place runner up and what he went through to try to win the show. In the days leading up to the finale, he had done all the tricks that body builders and fighters do to cut weight. Dehydrate. Starve. Sweat. Guess what? The man gained back 35 pounds in the first week after the weigh-in. You know why?

Because he returned to a normal lifestyle, but his metabolism did not.

The real news of this article, and what ought to be the biggest takeaway, is the discovery that the drastic (and in my opinion, violent) weight loss that the contestants undergo during the six or seven months on the show plummets their resting metabolic rate and levels of leptin, the hormone that controls hunger. When the show was over, their RMR (the level of energy and calories your body would burn if you did nothing but rest all day err day) was burning hundreds of calories less than people their size ought to. And they were hungry all the freaking time.

Do you have any idea how much that sucks? That would be like, if you and your friends ordered a pizza to share, and everyone gets one slice and feels fine because they didn’t overeat, but then you’re over there unbuttoning your pants and digging in your purse for some Pepto.

That would be like, if you went to the gym with your bestie to hit the treadmills and she sets hers at incline level 2 and walks about 3 miles per hour, while you’ve got yours cranked all the way up to 15 and you’re running a solid 6 mph and sweating like a pig, and then after an hour she’s blasted 350 calories and you only burned 85.

That would be like, if you and your friends went out for drinks and everyone else orders another round except for you because you got wasted halfway through your light beer and now you’re passed out on the table and everyone’s drawing the word “lightweight” on your forehead and taking selfies with you while you drool.

That one might be a stretch, but you get the picture.

Simply put, it just plain sucks.

The show’s doctor, in the article, says he wasn’t surprised to see the RMRs drop, but acknowledged that he didn’t expect to see them drop as much as they did. What he says next is a real kick in the pants: “Maintaining weight loss is difficult … which is why he tells contestants that they should exercise at least nine hours a week and monitor their diets to keep the weight off.”

NINE HOURS A WEEK?

Who the f*ck has the kind of lifestyle that gives them the freedom to work out NINE HOURS each and every week?? I mean it. Really. I want to meet this person so I can find out where I went wrong in my life.

That is more than an hour each day of exercise. That’s more than 90 minutes a day if you’re even thinking about taking a rest day.

You might be thinking that doesn’t sound so bad. Let’s really take a minute to break that down. We’re not talking about 90 minutes a day running on a treadmill. We’re not talking about 90 minutes a day of Bikram yoga. We’re not talking about that Zumba class you take three nights a week. We’re talking 90 continuous minutes of high intensity cardio and strength training.

I go to a morning bootcamp about four to five times a week. The class time is from 5:30 a.m. to 6:15 a.m. We show up; there are stragglers; we do a short warm-up; then we receive instruction for each of the exercises in that day’s circuit. By the time we begin class, it’s 5:45 a.m. On our best days, we clock a solid 30 minutes of exercise.

Working out at a high level of intensity for a solid 90 minutes? Woof.

The average Joe or Jane isn’t going to have a lifestyle that provides them an opportunity to do this. We all work. Some of us have a commute. Some have kids. Some have two jobs. Pets. People to care for other than themselves. Houses to maintain. We need time to cook. Meal prep, dammit. So much meal prep.

What’s that? Time to relax? Have fun? HAHAHAHA shut up, stupid.

Unless you have a career that enables you to afford to pay for a chef, a nanny, a gardener, a housekeeper, a personal assistant, and likely, a personal trainer, exercising nine hours a week is a pretty unrealistic goal to maintain for a long period of time, let alone, forever.

It’s no wonder to me that the contestants on “Biggest Loser” struggle so much after the show is over. Their bodies freaked out trying to adapt to the demand of seven hours a day of exercise. That’s right – while on the show, they exercise SEVEN hours a day. F*ck that. Then, once their bodies get used to that abuse, it all stops! Their bodies are exhausted and trying to figure out what the hell is happening. Even worse is the mental state that’s got to go along with that.

This morning I heard one of the contestants interviewed on TV, and he was talking about the shame he felt gaining weight back. You know how ashamed you feel around your friends when you’ve gained weight? Try to think about how much shame you’d feel when the entire country is looking, he said.

Holy sh*t. Can we all group hug and tell this guy everything is going to be OK?

Look. I get it. More than anyone might know. For a while there, a good five years or so ago, I got into pretty good shape. I didn’t have a whole lot going on in my life, so it was my priority. I had the time and the focus. I felt great. I wanted other people to feel just as great. So, I became a personal trainer. I got certified. I had clients. I made some good money on the side. I got more clients. But, I still had my day job. I started having less time to work out on my own. Less time for meal prep. Less time to have a life.

I gained the weight back. A lot of it. I wasn’t in good shape anymore. I had a hard time telling clients what to do when, obviously, I wasn’t doing it either. So, I quit.

The level of shame I felt – and still feel – is huge. I once was the trainer and now I’m the trainee. I once was close to having rock solid abs and now I’m fighting the spare tire.

So yeah, I get it. I feel for these guys. But I’m not shocked or surprised. Now that it’s out in the open, those who still think the “Biggest Loser” is a standard for weight loss to which they should hold themselves will hopefully see the light. There is something to be said for setting smaller, attainable goals for a successful weight loss journey. That’s real reality.