A would-be model answers the call

I want to be America's next top model.

I so wanted that chance that I hopped into my brother's black Honda at 4:30 in the morning and made a three-hour trip from Absecon to Harrisburg for an open casting call. Mind you, there is nothing modelesque about my body. I'm just your typical size 12 American woman, standing 5 feet, 7 inches tall and weighing in at 175 pounds.

Every time I watched America's Next Top Model it reminded me of the times I spent with my best friend dressing up, coloring my 13-year-old face, and trying to look "fierce," as supermodel Tyra Banks says, in front of the camera. Being on the show was all I ever thought about.

I worked for the U.S. Postal Service and when I delivered mail, the sidewalks became my catwalk and the mailbag was my fashion accessory. In my mind, the judges critiqued my walk and suggested changes for improvement, and I obliged.

My 6-hour-long "runway" - from the first address to which I made a delivery to the last - served as motivation to finish my routes.

Despite losing 20 pounds and going from a size 16 to a size 12 from so much walking, I still felt very self-conscious and unsure about my body.

Finally, in March, when I started watching the show's eighth season, I promised myself that no matter how I felt about my body or what people would think of me, I was going to answer a casting call.

I got up at 3:30 a.m. on a Saturday, dressed in a form-fitting black kimono-style top, blue jeans, and black high-heel boots, and left for Harrisburg.

When I arrived at the Harrisburg Mall, I couldn't believe that I was actually going to brave the line of size 0s and 2s with my plus-size body. Clutching the manila envelope holding my pictures and application, I made my way with my boyfriend to the back of the 250-person line.

No sooner did I get there than a young woman who worked for the CW television network announced that applications would not be taken if you did not have two forms of identification: driver's license, passport, birth certificate or Social Security card.

All I had was my driver's license.

I had to think fast.

I went over to Outdoor World (the only store open at 8 in the morning), explained my problem to the managers and asked to use their fax machine. I had my birth certificate faxed to me, and an hour later, ran back to the end of the line.

A security guard then came up to me and a few other girls and told us that they were not taking any more applicants.

I felt sick.

The young lady who worked for the network approached us, and after a little arguing, she allowed us to stay.

Four hours later, I hit another obstacle - my height.

I'm 5 feet, 6¾ inches tall, maybe a bit taller. Girls were being pulled out of line if they were below 5 feet, 7 inches.

My heart began to pound.

I took off my boots and inched myself up against the wall.

Once again, I made it through.

Finally, it was my turn to audition.

"Hi, my name is Luz Martinez. I'm 23 years old, 5 feet, 7 inches tall, weigh 175 pounds, and I'm representing America's favorite playground, Atlantic City," I said in an enthused voice.

I gave them my best catwalk, minus the mailbag, then turned back to the camera to answer a few more questions.

"Thank you. Production will start sometime in August," the producer said to me.

I thanked him and left.

I had waited five painful, foot-burning hours to be seen for five minutes.

When I got into my car, I pulled off my boots and massaged my feet. I turned to my boyfriend and said, "You know what? I'm glad that I did this, but after all that mess that I went through, I'd at least better get a call back."

America's Next Top Model, I'm still waiting.