My trainer thinks she's funny

Luckily my three sessions with the trainer from hell are over. It is now Brandon's turn to be tortured, but he has 10 sessions with her, ha! I went to the gym on Saturday, still sore from my beating with her from last Wednesday, and I saw her there. She told me that she had something for me and handed me a piece of paper. This is what it said:

A WEEK AT THE GYM

If you read this without laughting out loud, then there is something wrong with you. This is dedicated to every woman who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine.

Dear Diary ...

For my fithieth birthday this year, my husband (the sweet dear) purchased me a week of personal training at the local health club. Althought I am still in great shape (from 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 named Bruce, who described himself as a 26 year old aerobics instructor, and model for athletic clothing and swim wear. My husband seemed pleased with my sudden enthusiasm to get started. Well, the club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress, so here it goes:

Monday:

I 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 wathcing the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobic 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 the the toothbrush on the counter and moving my moth 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 that early in the moring 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 renedered 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 think, 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 into the men's room to hide. 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 were 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 else that weighs more than a sandwich. (Which I'm 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, shrill voice wondering why I did not shop 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 eneded up catching eleven straight hours of the $%^#$! Weather Channel.

Yep, she thinks this is funny. Me? I feel sorry for the poor woman subjected the the cruelty of such a personal trainer. It's a hard life I have to live.

On a very different note, this weekend I saw the most horrible thing I have ever seen in my life. Just as we were leaving a restaurant after a great meal with some friends, we heard the most awful screaming-like noise. I thought someone had been shot. But after listening a while, we all realized that it wasn't a person making that noise, but a dog! A car ran over a puppy and didn't even stop to see if it was ok. The yelping finally subsided after its owner (the idiot who decided to let it run in the middle of the road sans-leash, in the first place) found the dog and comforted it. It looked like it only had a broken leg, but I was still sick after hearing a dog scream like it did. People are such morons!