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This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into regular workout routine.

Dear Diary...

For my fortieth birthday this year, my husband (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local gym for me. Although I am still in great shape since my track and field days some 25 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.

I called the gym and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Damon, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear.

My husband seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The gym encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.................

Monday:

Started my day at 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Damon waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god - with blond hair, seductive eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!! Damon gave me a tour and showed me the machines. He took my pulse after five minutes on the treadmill and was alarmed that it was so fast, but I attribute it to standing next to him in his gym top and bulging shorts. I enjoyed watching the skilful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring. Damon 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. Damon made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air - then he put weights on it!

My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Damon'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 lying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I ran over the gym manager in the parking lot. Damon was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members.

His voice is a little too perky for this 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 he put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Damon told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life.

He said some other stuff too.

Thursday:

Damon 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 a half an hour late; it took me that long to tie my shoes. Damon took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the women's change room. He sent Cheryl to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the rowing machine - which I sank.

Friday:

I hate Damon more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, masochistic, gym-jock. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it. He 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 am sure you learned in the sadist school you attended and graduated magna cum laude from.)

The treadmill flung me off and I landed on the nutrition advisor. Why couldn't it have been someone big and soft, like an ice-cream salesman or a fireman?

Saturday:

Damon left a message on my answering machine in his grating, whinning voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing him made me want to smash the machine with my rolling pin. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching 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 puke) will choose a gift for me that is fun - like a root canal or a pap smear.

___________________________________________________

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