Why do I punish myself?

In a moment of weakness recently I suggested to Mark that perhaps we should share a personal trainer at the Coldwater Creek employee fitness center, so that we could both get in shape for ski season.

We decided that it was a brilliant idea to take the kids skiing this winter, thinking that would make the long cold hell that is winter in north Idaho a bit more bearable. So off we went to the gym yesterday for the first time together since before we were married with children.

May I say that today I feel as though I am lugging aroung tree trunks instead of legs? My flabby arms are so sore that I can barely lift a coffee cup to my lips? My abs are so painful that laughing hurts so badly it makes me pee a little?

And today I was running late for a meeting and attempted to, well, actually run to my car. I thought my feet were glued to the pavement, or at the very least stuck on the ground with some heavy-duty bubble gum on the soles of my shoes.

There is something else on my mind today too: I don't like personal trainers. They're mean. They make you work really hard and they don't listen to you when you tell them something is too heavy.

I am sure they've "heard it all before" but when a grown woman with a full time job and two small children steps into the gym for the first time in over 5 years, she's not shitting you when she says that 16 sit ups on an incline are a little bit impossible.

She's not "pulling your leg" when she tells you that 16 reps at the bench press with 35 pounds is more than she can handle. I have given birth to two children, I know my tolerance for pain. And I was WAY over that mark yesterday.

So now I can barely move, muscles I didn't even know were still functional are screaming, and I am stuck at my desk which will only further enhance my muscle cramping situation. I will be back at it again on Friday, working out with that personal trainer, also known as The Devil (and by the way, I said "jeez" when he described an exercise and he yelled at me for taking the Lord's name in vain), and hoping to God that I can at least chase the kids down this weekend.

And you know what? The personal trainer is damn lucky I didn't say what I wanted to say which involved the f-word. Repeatedly.

ADDENDUM: Okay, I just went to the bathroom and I could barely sit down, and thus barely get back up. Hear this personal trainer devil dude: I reserve the right to take the Lord's name in vain and say whatever the hell else I want to say if you punish my body so badly that the next day I am barely even able to take a shit. Nuff said.