What Was I Thinking?

Crayton is the devil. She convinced me I needed to start working out, and rather than just meeting me up at the gym and fooling around on the equipment, she decided we needed a personal trainer. And since she's teaching summer school (I'm not nearly crazy enough for that), I got the first session. Oh MY Christ!

This woman is obviously a card carrying member of the fatty haters club, it was her mission to whip my ass into shape and I mean by next Tuesday! She made me (when I say made I mean she goaded me) do something called the cobra. Ten Times! and she laughed at me when I told her I needed to throw up. Apparently I'm gonna look like Jim Carrey's bodybuilding lady friend by the end of the summer. Who knew my "weak spot" was my back? (Hello, gut.)

She made me roll around the floor in front of everyone (thankfully the only men there were like 70 and wearing shorts shorter than mine), and roll around on some pool noodle while she talked about working out my sore spots in my muscles (sore spots? I haven't done anything yet.)

Then she put me on the treadmill and told me not to get off until my two miles was up. Ever the one to prove myself, I stayed til I'd done three miles. That'll show her, yeah! And then when I tried to get off the machine, the floor was still moving and I executed a cute little dismount Dominique Dawes woulda been proud of. Have you ever seen my mother try to climb into the pool? That's how I looked as my legs tried to adjust to not moving anymore. It's an hour later and I am now regaining feeling to my legs.

I did it by God. She sees me again Tuesday and she wants me to walk another 10 miles between now and then. Sweet mother of God. Thinking about hangin out with the geriatrics down at the pool tomorrow, they know what's up.

S