Dear Diary..

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,
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 6:00am. 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 **** 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 < @*%23$>&*@*#$
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 A**HOLE) will choose a gift for me that is fun
--like a root canal or a hysterectomy.

 

:yelrotflm:yelrotflm:yelrotflm:yelrotflm:yelrotflm:yelrotflm:yelrotflm

 

Holy crap that was funny! By "Wednesday" I was on the floor.