Ok, forget the gym kick I was on. That was not working out. Compared to the torture I was subjected to last night by Paul, my personal trainer/person who hates me, the workouts I’ve been doing previously are like those Saturday mornings where you’re awake but just get to lie in bed for a little while.
I have never hurt like this before…including that week in Cuba where I burned myself to a crisp then spent 3 hours on a donkey up a cactus hill.
There is something very unsettling and all around bad about having one of your friends squeeze, pinch and prod you without at least making out first. I’m only kidding, Mom! But really, we had to go into this little room where he weighed me, determined my fat content and (the most awful part) took “before” pictures. That was not expected. Or pleasant.
I sort of thought we were just going to go through the motions and gossip about our friends – I didn’t think he would end up knowing everything about my body. Friends shouldn’t say to friends: “I see, you carry all of the weight around your waist.” But then he followed it up with: “Wow, those pants really DO make your ass look amazing” and “Most of my clients would say that you’re already skinny.” Forgiven. So, why did he have to work me so hard?? What’s wrong with a status quo figure?
Since I’ve heard him grumble about the clients who don’t put the effort in and are always complaining, I tried my best to suck it up when it hurt and I didn’t throw up. He’s set me up with a plan and it sounds to me that if I do it all properly, there will be less gym time, but better gym time. Plus, he said when he takes the “After” picture, I could wear makeup and get my hair done.
After that ordeal, I decided I deserved something wonderful so I headed to the Alex on Brant Street in Burlington – have you been to this place yet? It’s only the best new restaurant from an ex-boyfriend of mine EVER! There I had my favourite dish – black cod over lobster and orzo. I am a big fan of orzo. It’s like rice, but so much better. Like elegant starch. Had a lovely meal at the bar while I read my Vanity Fair - almost forgot all about gym. Except my legs wouldn’t stop shaking and driving home, I stalled twice because I couldn’t push the clutch in. Here goes nothing…