Joining a Gym

Since I am in a sedentary profession, I decided this week to officially accept the fact that I am middle-aged and out of shape and join a gym, er... health club, er...fitness center--well whatever it is, it has machines and weights and stuff. Anyhow, part of the deal is to have a couple of sessions with a trainer, and I thought this was a good idea, since I don't know how to work all the machines in the gym. What a mistake.

Let me tell you something right now...never let a trainer get hold of you...I think this guy's name was Genghis...no wait, it was Greg, it just sounded like Genghis after awhile...I said I wanted to work on my legs and abs, so he has me do about 100,000 squats, followed by 50,000 leg curls followed by about a million crunches. Then he has the audacity to say "how're you doing?" I said, "you mean other than wanting to puke on your shoes?"

I managed to stumble to the car and luckily the gym is only a few blocks from my house. So I get home, my wife says, "What happened, were you in an accident?" I gasp "noooooo" and fall into a chair...she then says, "I'm taking you to the hospital" and I am thinking, "yeah, right, I get to the hospital and they say 'what happened?' and I say 'Genghis.'" So I tell my wife, "No, I'm fine dear." So after an hour or so she gets over her solicitous attitude and for the next two days, as I stagger around on legs made of jell-o, she makes fun of her "old man." Nice.

So, am I quitting? No way. Back to the gym, uh fitness center, for more torture...I will keep ya'll posted.