Reformer

I am AFRAID for tomorrow to come. My personal trainer kicked my butt today, literally. She had me doing lunges with that damned ball and now there are parts of my posterior aching that I didn’t know COULD ache. And tomorrow will only be worse, I know it. I’m taking ibuprofen before bed tonight, but I’m already whimpering. Damn her, but in a good way.

Thursday I start a Pilates class with The Reformer. It looks like a medieval torture device and the name conjures up several Ah-nold sci-fi images. Can’t you just hear the movie trailers? “They said her ass was flabby. It was time to call in…. The Reformer.” Cue the ominous sounding music. Flashes of jiggly, cellulite-ridden flesh rush across the screen, followed by a close-up of California’s latest embarrassment saying, “Hasta la vista… fatty!”

Anyway, I have willingly signed up to be drawn and quartered by this thing starting Thursday because Juli said it would help with my flexibility and belly dancing. So I’ll have all these great muscles waiting when I get the fat melted off them. Damn, it hurts. But in a good way.

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