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Picture Perfect "Yeah…That's good…Hold it…Uh huh…OK." On photo day, I felt like I had everything in place. I was filled with confidence because I had peaked at just the right time. The first order of business was my spray-on tan. Frankly, I was a little nervous. I hadn't disrobed for anyone besides Pam in the last 12 weeks heck, in the last 10 years! Although I was uncomfortable stripping down to my underwear, I got over it. Not only did I want to see this quest through, I wanted to win. On the way home, the phone rang. It was the photographer calling with some awful news: Because of a family emergency, she would have to reschedule. I had booked her 12 weeks in advance precisely to avoid this kind of last-minute scramble. With the Challenge deadline looming, the photos absolutely had to be taken today. Racing home, I frantically phoned Pam and briefed her. She sprang into action, and started calling local photographers with studios. It was beginning to look like it was going to be me, a Kodak moment in the backyard. Ten minutes from the house, my phone rang again. Pam had found someone, but we'd need to hurry. Once home, I grabbed my gym bag and some light dumbbells and loaded the family in the car. Pam drove because she knew where we were going. We arrived at the Wilmington shopping mall and Pam pulled into a spot next to Sears. I looked at her. She stared straight ahead, doing everything in her power to keep a straight face. Suddenly, it dawned on me: I was taking my "after" pictures at the Sears family portrait studio! I was hoping the photographer would be a guy. No such luck. I discovered I'd be posing in front of a 20-something babe, and her two equally beautiful pals, while my wife watched the whole hilarious affair. Putting modesty and embarrassment aside once again, I stripped to my black briefs and began pumping up. After a few minutes, I asked Pam to lube me up with my "posing oil." A week before, I had ordered the real stuff bodybuilders use, but it didn't arrive in time. So at the last minute I had to make do with what I could find around the house Bertolli's extra-virgin olive oil. I felt and smelled like a piece of dipping bread at an Italian restaurant. To make matters worse, when Pam began smearing it on, my half-dry tan began smearing off. At home, in front of my bathroom mirror, I'd rehearsed exactly how to flex to make myself look my best. Now, without a mirror, I needed constant feedback from Pam and the photographer. "Do I need to f lex this muscle more? Do I need to squeeze my abs? Are my lats showing?" I asked. Which isn't to say I wasn't getting any feedback. The photographer and her newly recruited assistants showered me with oohs and ahs and lascivious looks. I knew I must be doing something right. Then, Pam broke in with a sultry voice I'd never heard before. "Yeah…Oh, yeah…That's good…Hold that one…Uh huh…OK." She exchanged a knowing glance with one of the other ladies, breaking my composure, triggering a fit of laughter. We took nearly 50 photos that day but wound up discarding 80 percent of them because I was laughing so hard. That evening, fueled by red wine, we went through the images and picked the best. After proofing my Transformation essay one last time, I began assembling my entry packet. Suddenly, I felt a momentary surge of optimism: I could win this thing!
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