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This made me laugh - thought I'd share it with some brilliant and talented author friends!
This is dedicated to every woman who ever attempted to get into regular workout routine.
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 to go ahead and give it a try.
I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer I'll call Bruce. He identified himself as a 26 year old aerobics instructor and a model for athletic clothing and swim wear. My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started and agreed wholeheartedly when the club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.
Monday: Started my day at 6:00 a.m. It was 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. After five minutes on the treadmill he took my pulse. He was a bit alarmed that it was so fast, but I attributed it to the fact I was standing next to him in his snug Lycra outfit. Bruce was very encouraging as I did my sit-ups (even though my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around). After my workout I enjoyed watching his skillful leadership in aerobics class. It was very inspiring. 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 - and 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 could brush my teeth this morning was by laying my body over the toothbrush on the bathroom counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have hernias 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 the other club members. His voice is just a little too perky this 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 instead. Why in 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 stupid 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 just to tie my shoes. Bruce punished me by making me work out with the dumbbells. When he wasn't looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. But he sent Lars to find me, and then as a disciplinary measure 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. He is a 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 today. I don't have any triceps! And Bruce, if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the &*@*# barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. After that disaster he forced me back on the treadmill and increased the speed. It quickly flung me off, causing me to land spread-eagle on the health and nutrition teacher.
Saturday: Bruce left a message on my answering machine wondering why I didn't show up today. Just hearing that grating, shrilly voice made me want to smash the machine with my diary. However, as I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote, I 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.

This is dedicated to every woman who ever attempted to get into regular workout routine.
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 to go ahead and give it a try.
I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer I'll call Bruce. He identified himself as a 26 year old aerobics instructor and a model for athletic clothing and swim wear. My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started and agreed wholeheartedly when the club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.
Monday: Started my day at 6:00 a.m. It was 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. After five minutes on the treadmill he took my pulse. He was a bit alarmed that it was so fast, but I attributed it to the fact I was standing next to him in his snug Lycra outfit. Bruce was very encouraging as I did my sit-ups (even though my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around). After my workout I enjoyed watching his skillful leadership in aerobics class. It was very inspiring. 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 - and 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 could brush my teeth this morning was by laying my body over the toothbrush on the bathroom counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have hernias 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 the other club members. His voice is just a little too perky this 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 instead. Why in 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 stupid 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 just to tie my shoes. Bruce punished me by making me work out with the dumbbells. When he wasn't looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. But he sent Lars to find me, and then as a disciplinary measure 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. He is a 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 today. I don't have any triceps! And Bruce, if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the &*@*# barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. After that disaster he forced me back on the treadmill and increased the speed. It quickly flung me off, causing me to land spread-eagle on the health and nutrition teacher.
Saturday: Bruce left a message on my answering machine wondering why I didn't show up today. Just hearing that grating, shrilly voice made me want to smash the machine with my diary. However, as I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote, I 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.
