Soooooo, um…I hired a personal trainer.
His name is Laurent.
It’s sort of a birthday pressie to meeee.
For one month, for one hour each week, he is going to kick my ass. THEN, he’s going to teach me how to kick my OWN ass so I can rock the gym by myself!
Why only a month?
Thaat’s about all I can afford, dude.
There’s a REASON celebs look so damn good.
THEY HAVE MONEY!
Anyway, so ACTUALLY, I started this workout-business three weeks ago and seriously? HE SOOO WASNT KIDDING ABOUT THE ASS KICKING!
I worked out with Laurent on Monday and I woke up PARALYZED this morning!
My muscles were SOO weak after the workout, that, walking to the Whole Foods, I nearly fell down the steps TWO TIMES!
Walking to the printer just now was pain BEYOND pain!
PAIN BEYOND PAIN!
Laurent is French, so he tends to count reps and say other things to me in French while I’m working out. At one point, while I was huffing and puffing and whining and whimpering doing this lunge-walk thing that makes me wanna curl up and die a really painful death because ANYTHING is better than doing the lunge walk, he said somthing to me in the language of love (or hate, in this case). Apparently, my 6 years of French kicked in, because my head whipped around and snapped at him (in english), “Your heart is NOT with me so quit LYING!”
Do you see the glaze of defeat in my eyes?
MY ASS BETTER THANK ME FOR THIS!