Im not too proud to admit (ok, I’m not proud at ALL) that I limped pathetically out of the gym tonight after having my ass handed to me on a platter by my trainer. I am feeling every inch of the poor life choices I’ve made during the pandemic inspired sloth and gluttony 24/7 party I threw for myself this past year.
Thank god for Ethan for kicking the ass of this middle age bag of mayonnaise because I for damn sure would not do a single one of those hellish exercises on my own.
Every bloody time I slowed and stopped he just smiled and said “take a break if you want, I’ll just add that time on at the end. Swear at me all you like.”
I told him (between painful gasps and lunges) that I could barely breathe much less speak or swear and that I’d need to catch my breath first. I assured him I’d just add all the swearing at him I wanted to do onto the end of our session. Bless his heart he had the nerve to laugh.
If I can summon the strength to climb into my bed, I swear to you I will be back hungry for more punishment Monday night. If I can’t raise my damn leg tonight, I’ll just sleep right here on the floor with my dogs. Oh, and I’ll still show up ready and willing for more torture. This bag of mayonnaise is coming for that kid.
