This is my first fitness journal entry. I have been wanting to get in shape for a long time now, so I finally decided to do it.
“Elaine,” I said to myself between mouthfuls of hot fudge sundae, “join a fitness center.”
I did, and they even assigned me a personal trainer. His name is John, and it was his suggestion I keep this journal. He said it would help keep me focused and allow me to see my progress. So far, all I’ve done is sign up, but tomorrow I start in earnest. I’ll be going to the center on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.
Whew! I’m beat. I started out in a ladies' aerobics class this morning. The instructor is a tiny little thing named Marcie. She wears a blonde pony tail pulled up high on her head, and has cute little pixie features.
I was sitting on my mat waiting for the class to begin when Marcie yanked off her warm-up jacket and revealed that she was wearing a skimpy leotard. When I looked around the room, I noticed the other women were dressed just like her. My bulky sweats evidently were not the right uniform for this class. It’s a mystery to me why all of those trim young women are in that class anyway. I didn’t see one pucker of cellulite anywhere, except on me. I bet all those skinny girls go to lunch together and share a string bean.
When Marcie spoke, I about jumped right out of my sweat pants. She might have looked like Tinkerbell, but she sounded like Brunhilda. Her bark was at least two octaves lower than a Rottweiler’s.
She started us out with a few toe touches. In my case, they were knee cap touches, but at least I participated. Then it was on to a lot of twisting and bouncing to blaring rock music. After thirty minutes, we were finally allowed to rest. Okay, I cheated and rested several times while Marcie had her back to us. For me, it was either rest there or rest in the emergency room.
I really think I’ll have a better day on Thursday. Today was just the ice breaker.
John showed me the exercise equipment today, and got me started on the rowing machine. He’s blunt, but maybe that’s a good thing. He said, among other things, the rower would help tighten the flab on my upper arms, then I wouldn’t look like I was taking flight every time I raised my hands over my head. He set the resistance for “light,” and believe me, it was truly an illuminating moment. I discovered that living with upper arm flab might not be so bad after all.
Then he took me to the juice bar. I was really looking forward to a glass of cold orange juice, but instead, John handed me a glass of thick, green liquid, and said, “Enjoy.” Yeah, right. It smelled an awful lot like my compost pile. I pretended to take a sip, then excused myself for the ladies room.
I’m sure Saturday will be much better.
Today I worked with hand weights. Very briefly, that is. Until now, I had no idea a puny one pound weight dropped on your foot could break it. This does mean I will not be able to compete in the beginner's hand ball tournament next Tuesday, but that’s okay. I’m sitting here with my right foot propped up on a stack of pillows.
John sent me home with a powdered energy drink to stir into skim milk. Unfortunately, all I have is chocolate milk. I guess that will have to do, since for obvious reasons I can’t go to the store at the moment. In fact, I may skip the energy drink all together, seeing as how I won’t be able to mix it properly. Maybe I’ll just drink the chocolate milk instead.
While it would be nice to be in better shape, I may put off this whole fitness thing after all. I think I need to try to accept the middle-aged body God gave me. He loves me just like I am, flabby thighs, midriff bulge, and all. I guess I should love me just the way I am, too. Maybe after my foot heals, I’ll go back to the fitness center just one day a week. Nah...
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