Can’t type…

I just want to start this post off by saying that I think it’s really cool that no one ever comments ever and that comments definitely do not affect my sense of self-worth. Just so we’re clear on that.
So my personal trainer tried to kill me today. They lured me in with promises of a free day of training and a shiny new notebook in which to record my progress, and then she took me up to the weights and tried to kill me with them. I always thought that there was a rule that you go a little easy on out-of-shape sloths like me so that their atrophied muscles don’t herniate out their skin pores. Was that a nice visual? I should write for doctor books!
Anyway, this trainer clearly did not subscribe to this theory. And since I’m really a guy in a sexy, sexy disguise, when she said “Now, 10 more, but it would be awesome if you did 20 more,” I always did the 20 more. And now I need a wheelchair.
She was just my trainer for one day, and after she explained the price for simply a weekly personal trainer, she will remain being just my trainer for one day. I think I’m capable of kicking my own ass just fine. And although I don’t have a snazzy notebook of goals since I didn’t pay their bajillion dollars, I came right home and made an excel spreadsheet of my goals. It looked a little sad, so I colored in the cells with a rainbow theme! Okay, maybe I’m not really a guy in disguise.

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