Health Club Diary

   If you read this without laughing out loud,
    there is something wrong with you. 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,
    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 < @*%23$>&*@*#$
    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 A**HOLE) will choose a gift for me that is fun
    --like a root canal or a hysterectomy.