Post by hearing_aide on Jun 4, 2002 14:19:06 GMT -5
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 swimwear. 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 6:00am. 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 worthwhile.
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 hell 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 shit 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
men's room. He sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the
rowing machine - which I sank.
Friday:
I hate that bastard Bruce more than any human being has ever hated
any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny,
anemic little cheerleader. 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). 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 BASTARD) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like
a root canal or a hysterectomy.
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 swimwear. 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 6:00am. 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 worthwhile.
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 hell 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 shit 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
men's room. He sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the
rowing machine - which I sank.
Friday:
I hate that bastard Bruce more than any human being has ever hated
any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny,
anemic little cheerleader. 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). 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 BASTARD) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like
a root canal or a hysterectomy.