GUEST POST — sent by a friend
For my 52nd birthday, my wife and children presented me with a week of personal training at the local health club. Although I feel I am still in great shape for a fifty year old my family felt that the loss of a number of kilograms and the shrinking of my stomach bulge so that I could get to my own shoe laces, was the way to go. The sight of Yvette, the young and very attractive fitness trainer, also helped in confirming my desire to get fit, starting Monday…
I started my day at 6:00 am. What the hell for? I was only due there at 9 and I didn’t need to shower before the workout.
When I arrived at the health club she was waiting for me, all raring to go. Beautiful girl, beautiful smile and beautiful voice. I was sold!
The first machine was the treadmill. S**t, five minutes and I could barely breathe, my pulse was racing like an engine on steroids and it had nothing to do with standing next to a beautiful woman. Maybe the effort of trying to hold my stomach in had some bearing on it. Once my heart rate had subsided I tried the stationary bike. Ahh! Much better except that I developed blisters on both butt cheeks after a half hour of pedaling. I hopped off the bike and strode manfully away trying not to walk like I had a carrot up my behind.
The next day I was better prepared, I had applied oils and petroleum jelly to the affected areas on my delicate posterior before I left home so I could stride with the usual manliness. I went for the weight lifting machine this time because I wanted to spare my ass the pain. This was easy, I had always had good upper body strength. She put a couple of weights on and then lay back to show me how it was done. This was easy, except that I couldn’t move the bar. I got up to check what was holding the thing back, but couldn’t find anything. Back on the machine I couldn’t move the frikkin thing but a wisp of a girl could do it, so I suddenly shouted and grabbed my belly. That took the smirk off her face. Pulled muscle, had to go for ice packing at home. Cheers!
I couldn’t lift my arms up high enough to shave and it took all of five minutes to lift myself off the toilet so I phoned in sick but she said that I needed to do light exercises or I would stiffen up. So off I went to face the bloody dragon once again. The others in the gym all had knowing smiles as I screamed my way through the light exercise routine that would have put a marine in the sick bay. Staggered back to my car and sat there silently contemplating suicide.
After four days there wasn’t a muscle in my body that wouldn’t cringe at the thought of further exercise and my whole body felt like I had spent 15 rounds in the ring with Mohamed Ali.
By the fifth day I had consumed every pain pill, anti inflammatory and prescription drug for any kind of illness that I could lay my hands on and I was ready to hire a hit man to get rid of my female persecutor.
The sixth day I managed to get from bed to chair and collapsed into a ball of pain where I stayed for the rest of the day. I dared not open my eyes to watch TV because even my eyelids were sore.
Thanks for your thoughtful gift sweetheart, but let me please tell you where you can place the next one if it’s similar. Come here so that I ca thank you properly. Ow! Even my bloody lips are sore.