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"Why I don't work out..."

For Christmas this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a week of private lessons at the local health club for me. Although I am still in great shape since playing on my high school softball team, 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 Connie, who identified herself as a 29-year old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.

My wife 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 6:00 AM. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Connie waiting for me. She is something of a goddess with blond hair, dancing blue eyes, and a dazzling white smile. WOO HOO!!!

Connie gave me a tour and showed me the machines. She took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to her in her aerobic outfit. I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which she conducted her aerobics class after my own workout today. Very inspiring.

Connie was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already 'aching' from holding it in the whole time she was around. This is going to be FANTASTIC week!!!

Tuesday: I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out of the door. Connie made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air... then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Connie's rewarding smile made it all worth while. I feel GREAT!!! It's a whole new life for me.

Wednesday: 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 lot.

Connie was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered the other club members. (Her voice is a little too perky for early in the morning, and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.) My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Connie put me on the stair monster. (Why in HELL would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?) Connie told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other crap too.

Thursday: Connie was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. (I couldn't help being a half hour late. It took that long for me to tie my friging shoes.) Connie took me to work out with dumbbells. When she was not looking, I ran and hid the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the rowing machine... which I sank.

Friday: I hate that BITCH Connie more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. (Stupid, skinny, anemic little cheerleader wanna-be BITCH). If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it. Connie 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 friging 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, you Nazi Bitch.) The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and P.E. teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

Saturday: Connie left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength even to use the TV remote and ended up watching eleven straight hours of the damn 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 wife will choose a gift for me that is fun...like a root canal or vasectomy. FINIS









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