A Week at the Gym

As I approach my 50th birthday, I find myself frantically revisiting and acting on my “Bucket List”. One item on the list is a cruise. Rifling through my wardrobe realizing I will have nothing to wear, I retreat to the couch to catch “The Biggest Loser”. Perhaps their hard work and effort will transform me just by watching?

A dear friend suggested we join the gym. “It will be fun”, “we have goals”! I pulled out my wallet and eagerly signed up!

I booked my appointment with “Sven”, who identified himself as a 28-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing. I was pumped!

MONDAY: a little early, but worth it when I arrived to find a blonde Scandinavian God named Sven with a porcelain white smile and a great physique! Sit ups were “painful”, from holding in my stomach the instant I saw him. I foresee a FANTASTIC week!

TUESDAY: consumed entire pot of coffee, but made it out the door. Sven made me lie on my back and push an iron bar into the air – then he added weights! Painful, but his smile made it worthwhile. I feel GREAT! A whole new life and wardrobe awaits me.

WEDNESDAY: teeth brushing a challenge; achieved by laying toothbrush on counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. Driving manageable but can’t steer or stop; (parked on top of a Mini Cooper upon arrival).

(Sven is way too perky at 6:30 am). Why would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Sven said the stair monster would be beneficial; along with some other nonsense.

THURSDAY: the beast was waiting; vampire-like teeth exposed; thin, cruel lips pulled back in a full snarl. He introduced a dumbbell routine – I hid in the restroom when he wasn’t looking, but he found me; as punishment, the rowing machine - I sank!

FRIDAY: I despise that chicklet-toothed, anemic, tyrant Sven! If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would hit him with it. Flew off the back of the treadmill; landed on Terry, the nutritionist; the landing was painful (she has 0% body fat).

SATURDAY: Satan left message on answering machine wondering where I was. His grating, shrilly voice, made me want to smash the machine with my nutrition tracker. Can’t lift anything heavier than a sandwich; including the remote; Results? Eleven hours of the golf channel.

SUNDAY: Church van picking me up – will thank God the week is over and pray my friend suggests a root-canal next time.