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.
8.09.2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
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).
What's wrong with being 41?
Sienna Miller eh? money well spent.
remember pain is weakness leaving the body, or something like that.
I went to the health club today. Afterward, I went home and slept for 2 hours. There's a lesson there somewhere.
good job!!!
welcome to the world of torture.
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.
good for you for hopping back on again! although i think you look great still in all your photos!
m
Post a Comment