Category Archives: Exercise

How was your weekend?

Mine was good until I decided to watch my karma.

So … I decided it was mean to cancel on my personal trainer friend. Just a word of warning to my valued readers, next time don’t be fooled by that smug bugger sitting on your right shoulder, at least the Devil perched on your left one doesn’t pretend to be nice when it’s channeling “Chucky”, the evil doll!

Because I truly believe you can learn something from every experience, here’s a pointer or two:

1. Personal Trainers never “mistakenly” set a meeting spot near an obstacle course.

2. Trust your “spidey sense” that is ricocheting against the walls of your skull when it tells you there is something DEFINITELY wrong with this picture if a personal trainer entices you with “Come over, it’ll be fun. We can have ice cream later on”.

I worked out on my day off, which should be a punishable offence in a court of law by the way, and paid for my ice cream twice with a “casual run” (try blood pumping, heart attack inducing sprint that would put Usain Bolt to shame).

My friend promised me that my backside would thank me today. Apparently, dead things can’t talk … or give pep talks, and because my body was bludgeoned to death yesterday, let’s just say, I’m still waiting for my thank you.

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If I am guardedly suspicious about my personal trainer friend inviting me for a picnic this weekend dangerously close to an obstacle course, does this make me a bad person?

I don’t care; I’m going to cancel on her anyway.

My spin instructor told me this morning that she’s after my soul!

If I had any lingering doubts before, they were finally eradicated. She’s definitely the Devil :/ But, it turned out that she was actually talking about my sole, so now I feel stupid. And paranoid -_-

I still think she’s the Devil though.

Try like Insane or stay the same …

These are the words my spin instructor said to me in the morning in the middle of a heart destroying work out.

Before I could restrain myself from the avalanche that was about to tear itself free from my endorphin spiked (and incomprehensibly inflicted with allusions of nonsensical grandeur) mind and stick a repulsive gym sock in my mouth, those twelve fateful words poured out like verbal diarrhea.

“So what you’re really trying to say is I’m fat, aren’t you?”

I know, I know. It was like watching a train derail itself and crash into some poor unsuspecting civilian (that would be me, just in case you’re wondering) in slow mo. Complete with the package of all the guts and intestines squirting out from inappropriate body parts. Even incarnating my best version of a wounded puppy dog expression didn’t save face.

She-Hitler (as I have nicknamed her) gave me one dry, uncommitted expression & ordered me to drop and give her 20.

Moral of the story? My mouth is the one part of my body that does NOT need any more exercise. :/