Saturdays session hurt like the Dickens. It hurts to walk around. When I walked into my session I said to my trainer, "Leah, Kill me!" What an idiot I am. I was in the mood for a tough workout. Who would have thought Leah would give it a shot! No, I wasn't even close to cardiac arrest but I did delay using the toilet because it hurt so much to squat.
I think Leah likes it when I grunt, scream, roll my eyes to the back of my head, pout, give her my angry face or otherwise show my discomfort during session. I think it makes her giddy actually, to hurt me with leg and bicep numbing exercises. I think she should have worked in a dungeon whipping poor toothless bread thieves into shape.
Leah has something against my flab. I think she is preoccupied with muscle. I, for one, appreciate the warmth my layers of flesh give me. Leah is cold in the winter. I am warm. I get to shop at Lane Bryant and buy fantastic sparkly spandex jeans with tummy flattening panels. Leah can wear anything including shorts! Overrated!
I think Leah is preoccupied with my being fit. And omit the beautiful silhouette of cellulite from my visual diet? I personally love to wonder if a chair will collapse beneath me.