After Marie almost killed me last year at boot camp, I revolted and sat down for an entire winter and did NOTHING, exercise speaking. I was well on my way to becoming my grandmother – no, make that my Great Grandmother.
Three weeks ago, my neighbor, Brenda, called to say she had won two free weeks at a new health club and she could take a friend – she selected me. To humor her, (besides I wanted a start of her garlic and scallions), I agreed. TWO WEEKS. “Nothing more, nothing less,” I said. “I’m done with health clubs.”
We drove over and checked in. Our personal trainer, Brian Arnett, put us on a program and we plugged along, gasping and wheezing. But we followed his program. She made me when I didn’t feel like it, and I made her when she didn’t.
Low and behold, we began having fun. Oh my goodness, could exercise actually be fun? I never knew. And we began to feel stronger. We became giddy. We even went on a Saturday.
By week three, the health club demanded that we join. They wanted a two year commitment. See how that works? They pulled us in like a pair of weak mosquitoes. Feed us some blood then, go in for the kill.
By then we were feeling so wonderful and so hopeful that we could finally wear sleeveless dresses again, there was no stopping us. We’re in.