The Truth about Exercise
Dear Diary.....
For my fiftieth birthday this year, my husband (the dear) purchased a week of
personal training at the local health club for me. Although I am still in
great shape since playing on my high school softball team, I decided it would
be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try. I called the club and made my
reservations with a personal trainer I'll call Bruce, who identified himself
as a 26 year old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim
wear. My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started. The club
encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.
- Monday:
Started my day at 6:00 am. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well
worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Bruce waiting for me. He
is something of a Greek god - with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling
white smile. Woo Hoo!! Bruce gave me a tour and showed me the machines. He
took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill. He was alarmed that my
pulse was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to him in his Lycra
aerobic outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted
his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring. Bruce was
encouraging as I did my sit ups, although my gut was already aching from
holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC
week!!
- Tuesday:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Bruce
made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air - then he put
weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the
full mile. Bruce's rewarding smile made it all worth while. I feel GREAT!!
It's a whole new life for me.
- Wednesday:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying on the toothbrush on the
counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a
hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or
stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Bruce was impatient
with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is
a little too perky for early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this
nasally whine that is VERY annoying. My chest hurt when I got on the
treadmill, so Bruce put me on the stair monster. Why the heck would anyone
invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?
Bruce told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some
other nonsense too.
- Thursday:
Bruce was waiting for me with his vampire like teeth exposed as his thin,
cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an
hour late, it took me that long to tie my shoes. Bruce took me to work out
with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the lady's room.
He sent the Wicked Witch of the West to find me, then, as punishment, put me
on the rowing machine - which I sank.
- Friday:
I hate that blasted Bruce more than any human being has ever hated any other
human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic little
cheerleader wanna be. If there was a part of my body I could move without
unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. Bruce wanted me to work on my
triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the
floor, don't hand me the *$@#& barbells or anything that weighs more than a
sandwich. (Which I am sure you learned in the sadist school you attended and
graduated magna cum laude from, you Nazi). The treadmill flung me off and I
landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone
softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?
- Saturday:
Bruce left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice
wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing him made me want to
smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even
use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the *$@#&
Weather Channel.
- Sunday:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank
GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband (the
IDIOT) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like a root canal or a
hysterectomy.
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