Pushup, Smushup

Oh, my Lord.

This morning, at 5 a.m., I went and met my personal trainer and did my evaluation. 

Or should I say, she did my evaluation.

I now know I am WAY out of shape.

I now know I have WAY too much body fat, even though I’ve lost 50 pounds.

I now know I don’t have half the flexibility I used to have.

I now know I can’t do one - 1 -  you know, like “three, two, one? - pronounced “won” - pushup.  One stinking pushup.

I thought a pushup was a bra type, dammit.

I now know I can’t do lunges, or squats, since I hurt my knee prior to the Alaska trip.

Nothing like a little self-realization to make you feel secure and good about yourself.

I might as well not go, right?  Right?  (C’mon, give me some affirmation here.  I only need one little excuse to quit - you know, before I even get really started?)

To her credit, she didn’t laugh at me every time I failed, or even make fun of how out of shape I am.  Thank God.

She did smile and say, “You’ll get better.” Which sounds an awful lot like:  “Bwahahahahahaha...I’m going to get you, my pretty!”

And hot?

Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, it was HOT in there.  At 5 in the morning!  HOT!!!

I’m on the treadmill.  And she’s pushing the incline up, doing my cardio evaluation.  I finally told her, “Hey, it’s hot in here.  I’m menopausal.  I threaten to CUT my husband when I get too hot. Just saying.”

She smiled, and turned on the oscillating fan.    Little does she know, in that one beautiful action, she may have well saved her sweet little life.  

It's never boring around here.