Happy new year!
For those of you who hit the gym strong this first week of the new year, I bring you this anonymous woman’s story.
WEEK AT THE GYM: ONE WOMANS STORY
Dear Diary. …
For my 45th 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 college tennis team 30 years ago, 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 Joe, 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. .
Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Joe waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god – with blond hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile.
Joe 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!
Joey was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, all though my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week-!!
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Joe 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. Joey’s rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT-!!
It’s a whole new life for me.
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying 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.
Joe 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 Joe put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?
Joe told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other crap too.
Joe 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.
Joe took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the ladies room. He sent Muffy to find me. Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine — which I sank.
I hate that krtl, Joe, 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. Joe 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. 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?
Joe 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.
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 will choose a gift for me that is fun — like a root canal or a hysterectomy.
The style reminds me of Erma Bombeck, but I don’t think she wrote it. It’s a gem and I’d love to give proper credit if anyone knows its author. So far, I’ve only found other reprints by people who, like me, can’t properly give credit.