The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

Hi, You’re Cute… Ow Ow Ow

I promise we’ll get back to real estate later in the week, but for now:

So I joined a gym. If you know me, you know this is a big, out of character thing. Like, as in, when the gym chick was giving me my entrance interview and she asked me when the last time I exercised regularly was, I had to have her define both ‘exercise’ and ‘regularly’ and the answer was still never. Um, yeah, I’m not what you’d call ‘athletic’ or ‘in shape’ and I definitely don’t have those things you call ‘muscles’.

Anyway, it seemed appropriate for me to attempt that whole working out thing at this time in my life. I need a stress releaser. I also am getting close to 30 and it would be nice to get rid of my perpetual jelly belly. So I joined the gym, and since I’m intimidated by anything machine-like and related to working out, I also purchased 5 sessions with a personal trainer so I would know what to do when I go to the gym, other than hiding in the locker room (I’m totally good at that).

Tonight was my first actual workout session with my personal trainer. I have to tell you, I have this bizarre bad luck that seems like good luck with masseuses and apparently also trainers. In both occasions I’m forced to kind of let it all hang out in a ridiculously unattractive manner in order to get my money’s worth of the service. Somehow, I’m always cursed with being assigned totally hot men as my servicers. What the heck? Do you know how hard it is to enjoy a massage when you’re lying there with the knowledge that your cute masseuse, Joe, is currently kneading your cottage cheesey, not been shaved in god knows how long thigh? Real real hard. Where the heck is a hairy 50 year old drill Sargent lady, when you need one?!

Thus, tonight, I spent 50 excruciating, sweaty and nauseous minutes being literally tortured by Peter, the 6’4″ Brit cyclist with adorable dimples and a wit to match. Shoot me, shoot me now. I have three more sessions. I’m telling you, the man made me ‘inch-worm’ across the length of the exercise room twice. I can’t decide whether to set him up with my sister, or kick him in the shins.

Comments are closed.

Comments Closed