Pushin' til I'm Putin

Today, I had a free health assessment as part of my gym membership. I have always been quite terrified of personal training sessions, due to my fear of being judged for my weak and flabby body. So, when asked whether or not I wanted a man or woman as my trainer, I squealed, "whatevs!" That's when the counterlady perused the appointment folder and then assigned me to Mikhail. I had no idea who Mikhail was, but was sure that he was going to turn me into a warrior like Tom Cruise. Being the doughy dumpling-cake that I am, I patiently skipped over to a tiny chair and waited for my personal life coach to appear. I decided to pass the time by watching a class taking place in the workout studio. It was kickboxing. Just as I peered in, the leathery, brutish, hard-bodied instructor did a jumping spinkick into a punching bag, which nearly ripped in two. Subsequently, after this impressive move, one of his pupils chirped, "Hey Mikhail, like this?" Point being is that I am made of pastry filling and my personal trainer was chiseled out of ice from a million years ago.

My health assessment started with a flab check, flexibility test, and weigh in. I failed all three and was punched in the anus. I did okay on sit-ups and cardio, but made a weak impression with my muscle strength test. He first put me on an arm machine, where I was literally only lifting 50 lbs. and was shaking violently enough for my hair to fall out of a ponytail (a side ponytail, heh heh). Then, he tested my leg strength with that machine where you sit upright and put your feet on a flat surface ahead of you and then push. I will call it the birthing machine, because when he put my weight setting at 210 lbs., I pushed so hard that I partially squeezed out my tampon. After putting my results into the computer, we chatted about ice hockey and he told me to go kill myself. I said thank you, licked his bicep, and made an appointment with him on Monday. My tummy says, "See you later suckers!!!!"

lots of love,
Michael Elliot Barry