8.09.2006

If you can't beat 'em, beat 'em

Every inch of my body aches. Stiff, soar, and ever conscious of the pain, I wobble around gingerly, like a little old lady who has seen better days. I've seen better days, that's for sure. Hopefully this pain will not only be short-lived, but also will put me back on the path to good health and physical excellence.

That's right. I'm working out again. After losing my motivation around the same time I lost my hair, coupled with the endless barrage of vacations and business trips, my bulging waistline and lower energy level forced me back to the gym for a fitness evaluation. The results were bad, very bad.

As the personal training director worked out every last one of my vital statistics, a computer-generated me, complete with a short, bleach blond do and bloating belly, popped on the computer screen.

"Based on your height, weight, BMI, and other factors, this is a generated model of what you look like," he offered.

I didn't like what I was seeing.

"...But with diet and exercise, we can have you looking like this in 10-12 months."

The computer-generated me began morphing into someone resembling Sienna Miller. This time, I did like what I was seeing and promptly pulled out my credit card.

"Where do I sign?" I asked?

It's not just vanity that prompts me back to the hot, sweaty, smelly house of physical torture. With the extra pounds, I am increasing my risk of diabetes and high blood pressure. More importantly, if the training director is correct, I'm no longer 38. I am the fitness equivalent of a 41-year old. I won't stand for premature aging. If maxing out my credit card and working up a whole lot of sweat will keep me in my 30s a little longer, then let the work outs begin.

So for the next month I will be working with Simone, personal trainer extraordinaire and former beauty queen, no fewer than four times a week. Then, for the next 11 months after, I'll be working with her twice a week. I paid for the entire year in full in the hopes of sticking to the program. So far, we've only had only one session and I already feel like I'm dying. Still if I die tragically on a treadmill looking like Princess Diana or a young Marilyn Monroe. I will at least have piece of mind knowing that at my open-casket funeral friends whispered about how great I looked, albeit stiff and lifeless. "Death becomes her...But she looked so young!"

Ok, So IT IS VANITY. Sue me.

6 comments:

utenzi said...

Oh, Diane! Wouldn't it be easier to just buy a place with a yard? Some gardening and lawn mowing would keep you trim and fit! (and would be FREE!)

Good luck on this venture, of course. I look forward to seeing pictures of the new and improved Diane in a few weeks (or months, if necessary).

running42k said...

What's wrong with being 41?

Sienna Miller eh? money well spent.

remember pain is weakness leaving the body, or something like that.

kenju said...

I went to the health club today. Afterward, I went home and slept for 2 hours. There's a lesson there somewhere.

JustJunebug said...

good job!!!

welcome to the world of torture.

├ůsa said...

Diane! Kudos to you! Or as my gym tells me when I try to negotiate a lower price each year: every dollar you spend on your self is money well spent! Go max that credit out and get some nice work-out gear as well. It does feel better to be at the gym in nice clothes. Or am I just vane? Besides: I’m sure you look great “being” 41 as well.

mollymcmommy said...

good for you for hopping back on again! although i think you look great still in all your photos!

m