Five Pounds of Curry

I have hired a personal trainer. I know, now I am some sort of 30-something, half-posh, middle class, hyphenated stereotype. But it is actually a really good thing. I have been trying, albeit half heartedly to regain my pre-baby body for about a year now, and the time had finally come. This new gym has come to town, and it is a really great place, with free kid care and a pool and all the other stuff I like. As I was signing up (I got an awesome deal through my work) I was suggestively sold a personal trainer package. My justification for paying all of that money was, “she’ll kick my butt into shape so I don’t have to.”

I met with Keisha last week for the first time and we did my measurements (don’t even ask me) and we started working out. I left her the first day thoroughly tired and sweaty, but happy and feeling good.

Yesterday I was scheduled to meet with her again at 1pm. ( I have paid for 25 sessions, and this was number 2.) I decided to eat lunch around 11am so as to be mostly digested by the time I got there. I decided to eat about five pounds of this delicious and spicy curry I had made along with a huge pile a brown rice; excessive, maybe, but healthy, right?

I met with Keisha 2 hours later and she proceeded to beat me to a bloody pulp. We started with stretches, crunches and back, then worked chest, back, shoulders, biceps, triceps then bicycled, hard for 4 minutes. Then we did it again (when I say we, I mean me!), chest back shoulders, biceps, triceps and then bicycled hard for 4 more minutes.

At this point, I was starting to taste that curry again, and it was not a comfortable feeling. I asked her how much more I had to do and she said one more circuit and I said,

“I’m going to throw up.”

Keisha looked a little concerned.

“What? Why?”

“I ate five pounds of curry for lunch. I don’t think that was very smart!”

She started laughing at me. “You probably shouldn’t do that next time.”

“Okay.” I moaned as I clutched aching head and rumbling stomach.

“Well, we’ll finish with abs then,” she said, and as I sighed in relief, sure my pain was over now, she completed the pummeling by making me do six sets of fifteen crunches (for the slow, that’s 90 crunches).

I stumbled out of the gym, flopped into my boiling hot car and proceeded to drive home. I actually have no idea how I made it, I passed out in my drive way and then finally made it into the house. I had to call into work and tell them I wasn’t going to make it in. What a loser.