Dear Diary

Sunday

For my fiftieth birthday this year, my husband (the dear) has purchased a week of personal training at the local health club.

Although I am still in good shape (if not as good as when I was playing on my high school softball team), I have decided it would be a good idea to go ahead with it.

I have called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Bruce, who identified himself as a 26 year old aerobics instructor AND model for athletic clothing and swimwear.

My husband seems pleased with my enthusiasm to get started. The club has encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

Monday

Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the club to find Bruce waiting for me.

He is a hunk - with blonde hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!

Bruce gave me a tour and showed me the machines. He took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill.

He was alarmed that my pulse was so fast. But I attribute it to standing next to him in his Lycra aerobic outfit.

I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his class workout. VERY inspiring.

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

Tuesday

I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Bruce had me lay on my back and push a heavy iron bar in the air.

Then he put weights on it!! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile.

Bruce's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. 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 hernias 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 parking lot. Bruce was impatient with me, insisting my screams bothered other club members.

His voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is very annoying.

My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Bruce put me on the Stairmonster. Why in the world would anyone invent a machine simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators?

Bruce told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other stuff, too.

Thursday

Bruce was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl.

I couldn't help being half an hour late. It took me that long to tie my shoes.

He wanted me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. He sent Lars to find me, then as punishment, put me on the rowing machine, which I sank.

Friday[page]分页标题[/page]

I hate that jerk Bruce more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world.

Stupid, skinny, anemic little cheerleader wannabe jerk. If there was any part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.

Bruce 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 the barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.

(Which I'm sure you learned in the sadist school you attended and graduated magna cum laude from, you jerk!)

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher.

...Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

Saturday

Bruce left a message on my answering machine in his grating, whining voice. It made me want to smash the machine!!

However, I lack the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up watching eleven straight hours of the 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 husband (the JERK) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like a root canal or a hysterectomy.

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