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Let It Rip

The words spewed like pressurized water through a power washer, fast and furious with little regard to what was on the receiving end.

“You lying sack of shit,” I grunted as the trainer tossed me the medicine ball AGAIN after she had promised that the previous throw was the last.

“Oops, sorry. That just sorta slipped out,” I said. She smiled.

I felt kinda bad though. I really do like her, and I think she is helping me quite a bit. Last week, I must have exuded some sort of I-got-this-shit-under-control attitude because she kicked my ass yesterday. Maybe she was trying to make up for the fact that I wouldn’t see her tomorrow. She could have been ensuring I was too tired to lift my arms to cram a Snickers bar into my pie hole later, which takes care of the over-snacking dilemma unless I just want to lick something directly off the floor like my dog sucking up morsels dropped from the dinner table every evening .

I don’t know Allyn well enough to blow her shit. I’m sure she’s heard worse, right? The workouts are hard, but I want to do them, and at times I really like them when I’m not thinking I might collapse. I feel increased stability in my knees, and they haven’t felt nearly as achy, which come to think of it, I’ve not even been gnawing on ibuprofen like I used to.

This work out also made the locker room confrontation less of an issue again. Drop a sock? Who the fuck cares if the girl next to me doesn’t want to see my boobs droop as I scoop up my sock? I just gave her a peek into what she has to look forward to in twenty years after two pregnancies and breastfeeding. Times like these make me wonder if paying tuition for private school was the best choice when plastic surgery could have been so much more gratifying. Woo hoo, run now little chickadee.

Regardless, it was satisfying to complete the workout, and the trainer didn’t seem too honked off that I spouted off or did she? Perhaps she did have the last laugh.

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2 Responses

  1. I really envy your ability to get a trainer. I’ve tried going to the gym many times, and even tried a trainer, but I can’t get over my fear of being watched. 😦 I know everyone is there for themselves, and no one really cares what I’m doing or how I look doing it, but dang…

    Anyway, I liked your post–especially your title. He-he.

  2. I guess that is one reason I like my membership at the Y. There seems to be less pressure. Give it a shot. 🙂

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