Confession #1a: Yesterday I went to a personal trainer in an attempt to get back to my fighting weight.
Confession #1b: I do not exactly know what "my fighting weight" would be, since I am generally a lover not a fighter.
Confession #1c: I do not exactly know what my normal day-to-day weight is in general. Though, I am pretty sure it would be advantageous for me to step on the scale and find out, so as to measure any results I should hopefully see after Malachi has had his way with me and run me through the fitness gauntlet also known as "Back Bay Fitness".
Confession #2a: In the past 36 hours I have consumed a minimum of 1000 ounces of diet coke to dull the pain and soreness that I have felt since immediately after yesterday's training session.
Confession #2b: The spike in my caffeine intake isn't helping, but I am sure I'll have a wicked headache when I taper down to my usual 500 ounces a day.
Confession #2c: I have to "walk it out" every time I get up to get another diet coke, and I tell myself that it's helping, even though deep down inside I know it's not making my situation any better.
Confession #3a: For all intensive purposes, I should be allowed to park in the handicap parking spaces, being as I look for sure like I have some sort of incurable polio or muscular dystrophy.
Confession #3b: I am sure no one who was to meet me for the first time would buy that I am in fact NOT handicapped.
Confession #3c: I am NOT actually physically disabled... at least not that I am aware of.
Confession #4a: I walked down the hall today and my boss started laughing. And, he followed up his chuckle with "I am not laughing at you, I am laughing with you".
Confession #4b: My boss' declaration brought back vivid memories of my childhood. I am not sure I ever heard Adam (my older brother) say anything to me throughout my entire existence that differed from that one statement... which was verbally spat at me at least a dozen times a day.
Confession #4c: It is because of my childhood that I have SUCH thick skin!
Confession #5a: Shortly after my boss' statement, Jackie made this one "You look like you're hiding a brace under those clothes. You know like those kids in school that used to have to wear braces under their clothes, but pretended to be fine. Did your school have any of those kids?
Confession #5b: My school did have some of those kids.
Confession #5c: I do not actually have to wear a brace.
Confession #6a: I wince every time I sit down.
Confession #6b: I wince every time I get up.
Confession #6c: Sometimes I wince just sitting still.
Confession #7a: I have to go back to the trainer tomorrow.
Confession #7b: As embattled as I feel, it's actually harder for me to get up at 5:30 AM, than it is to actually go through the fitness gauntlet a.k.a. "Back Bay Fitness".
Confession #7c: Someday... hopefully sooner than later, I might not have abs of flab, though I am pretty sure I will NEVER have abs of steel either. It sure is a good thing I am nowhere even close to a perfectionist.
Confession #7d: The reason I am actually going to a trainer has absolutely nothing to do with getting back into fighting shape. I am not truthfully very vain. But, I can't say no to anything or anyone. And, my friend asked me to go with her, which is why I am in this ridiculous state of peril. Do we think the trainer has any exercises that will help me strengthen my backbone?!? Or do you think Jackie could suggest some sort of a brace to fix my spine?!?