Friday, August 26, 2005


I am currently walking around looking like I had an encounter with an erratic vibrator. But don't worry, I haven't seen any action from B.O.B. in a while. The reason why I have an imaginary pole up my ass is because I made the mistake of trying to lose weight.
This all started 9 months ago when my favorite jeans started chanting "HELL NO! WE WON'T GO!" once they reached my hips. I knew this was a problem, but I let it go. All I needed to do was lose a few pounds and they would fit again. Fast forward 4 months later and those pants still don't fit, aren't close to fitting, and I'm starting to wonder if they ever will fit again. The final straw came this past weekend while trying on crop pants in the fitting room at BCBG. Now BCBG does ego sizing better than any brand out there, but even they couldn't make a size 10 that gets over my ever expanding rump. Right then and there I decided I needed to get back into shape. And I needed to do it by any means necessary. That's it! I'm getting a personal trainer.
I'm all fired up and motivated now. So Monday morning I march right into the gym, go up to the front desk and tell them, "I want a trainer!!" When I sit down with one of the Personal Training Coordinators I let her know that I want results and I want them fast. I need a trainer who's insane. I want someone who I'm gonna hate. I want someone that's gonna kick my lazy butt into shape. Oh yeah, and I want to start immediately. So the lady writes all this down and tells me she'll review the list of trainers to see who is available and have one of them call me that evening. Around 7 p.m I get a call from one of the trainers. We chat about my goals and time availability and then decide to meet at 6 a.m. the next morning. So far so good.
The next day I'm up before the butt crack of dawn and arrive 10 minutes before my scheduled appointment. I warm up by jogging a couple of laps on the track and stretching out. I'm ready to go! At 6 a.m. sharp I meet my trainer. He looked cool. Tall guy with an athletic build and a friendly smile. Little did I know that I had been paired with Satan's Henchman In Charge of Torture. That Fascist dictator took extreme pleasure from my extreme pain. I have the feeling that he was taking out all of the frustrations from his childhood on me. I could just see it in eyes. Mommy wouldn't give me a cookie...5 more reps for Liz. Santa didn't bring me a bike...add another 20 pound weight plate for Liz. Prom date wouldn't give me a hand job...15 more crunches for Liz. He wouldn't even stop when halfway through the workout I told him he was about 2 seconds away from seeing my breakfast on his Nikes. He just looked at me and said, "That's nice, keep lifting, you've got 8 more to go." At 7:10 I limped back to my car, drove home, and put myself to bed.
The next day I wake up to pain coursing through every fiber of my body. Everything from my back to my abs to my thighs was aching. I couldn't even stand, let alone walk. Stairs were completely out of the question. The worst pain was in my ass. Every time I attempted to sit it felt as though I was getting kicked in each cheek with a steel toe boot. The lean and plop method of sitting often used by pregnant women had to be employed just to get on the toilet seat. I didn't ask for this!! I said I wanted a trainer who was insane, not criminally psychotic. I said I wanted a trainer who will kick my butt into shape, not try to kill me. I said I wanted a trainer who will make me hate them, not make me want to hire a hitman. The most bullshit part of this is that I'm actually paying Satan's Minion to do this to me. I'm beginning to think that getting back into my skinny jeans isn't worth it. Screw it, I'll just be a fat cow. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

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