truthsupplier
23-11-2009, 03:51 PM
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 6:00am. 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 jerk!) 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 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 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 jerk!) will choose a gift for me that
is fun - like a root canal or a hysterectomy