Abs-olutely horrifying

It’s possible that my love affair with Leisa Hart may be on the wane. I mean, yes, I’ve been neglecting her lately, given my current fascination with Yoga and Pilates, plus the classes at the gym. But I can’t see that that’s any reason for her to treat me the way she did last night.

I’d gone to the eye doctor’s for some arcane procedure in which they anesthetised my eyeball and then super-dilated my pupils, possibly just for kicks. The combination left me big-eyed and unable to see much. So, a visit to the gym was certainly out. On the other hand, a hearty Lebanese lunch at a restaurant and my desire to stay in bed yesterday morning, rather than haul my ass to the Pilates mat, had left me with a mere 333 calories for supper. Not enough. Especially since Taco was making pizza. Mmmmpizza. But I digress.

So, bleary-eyed but not blind enough to NOT be able to exercise, I hooked up with Leisa for what I thought would be a joyous reunion. And oh yeah, it was…all through the sweaty cardio, even into buns and thighs. My devotion to her wavered a little during the upper body workout, but that’s really my fault for not lifting weights for weeks except to move them out of my way in the morning while I’m pulling out my mat for Yoga. But Leisa really got her revenge for weeks of neglect with the abs workout. A workout I’ve never done before on that DVD. And holy shit, now I know why.

I was lying on the floor practically crying, trying to crunch and twist and oh my god, I thought Pilates was giving me a nice set of abs but who the hell have I been kidding? Taco came into the room at one point and asked how it was going. “I hate her,” I seethed, through gritted teeth as I “worked” my “obliques.” “She loves you,” Taco replied. I grunted. “She thinks you look bad!” “Yeah, but only in the bad way now,” I gasped. “The kickboxing love is gone, replaced with this fucking torture.” And then I fell back on the mat, panting and cursing.

Leisa Hart. Screw you. On the other hand, I bet if I did that abs workout a few times a week, it wouldn’t fill me with hate and pain so much. It is HARD to be a pollyanna, people, but it seems I have no choice.

In other news, this fragment of an email from Mean and Crazy this morning:
“Also, let’s make some definite plans to get you started. Maybe we should just have a short meeting so I can get a grasp of what your goals are and then
tell you what I can do for you, and to come up with a schedule that will
work for you.
You put it out there.....now your ass is mine.
Was that too tough...or tough enough?
Have a great day and I will see you later...”

That “I will see you later…” could be a threat, could be a promise. We start tomorrow, with a kickboxing class. I have thus far avoided her kickboxing class, because everyone at the gym says it’s superhard. “Who says that?” she demanded to know the other day. I cowered a little, “I dunno. People in the change room.” Please don’t hit me, I added silently. Ha ha, just kidding. Heh.

I’ll let you know how it goes. If I can still move my arms to type.