Gym Hatred

Darling one, you've heard me whine countless times about my hatred of all things exercise.  You know how I feel about it.  You know I have no sense of decorum when asked about it.  Surely, then, you will feel no surprise when I tell you that I am unhappy about my current exercise situation.

But you might consider acting surprised.

Pfft.  Fine.  

Since visiting the trainer, Sandy the Sadist, was waaaaaaaaaaaaay too expensive and sadly, since exercise is required for continued weight loss, Roommate and I had to find another was to get this hideous activity in.  We...sigh.  We found a gym.

[Pause for sobbing.] 

Anyway.  On Thursday evening, Roommate dragged me, kicking and screaming, to a local gym and forced me to sign up.  Okay, she didn't actually drag me.  I did walk in.  And I wasn't actually kicking or screaming, but I was irritated, sulky and snotty about it.  And while she didn't actually hold a gun to my head, there was a beating.  Okay, there wasn't a beating.  But she wanted to.  I could tell. 

What?  You want me to lie?

Back to what I was saying.  John, the gym's manager, signed us up rather gleefully for our membership which included a free training session/orientation.  Roommate chose Monday evening, while I'm working my long shift, and I had the choice of the next day [Friday] or Friday the following week.  What would be the point, I wondered, of waiting to be shown around this den of torture?  Fine, I said to John, who was grinning like the Joker.  Tomorrow.  Gah.

Great! John exclaimed cheerily.  Nine AM?

Nine AM?  Are you kidding?

See, Friday is the day I get to sleep in.  The day when Roommate goes to work without me, rather than dragging my butt in an hour and a half earlier than I need to be there just so we can freaking carpool, get better parking and preserve the damn planet despite the fact that I'm barren and have no reason to care about the damage done to the planet by extra cars on the road--

---But I digress.

Begrudgingly, I agreed to a nine AM appointment.  Then John informed me that I needed to eat a "protein" meal an hour-hour and a half before my appointment.

[THUNK.]

But I agreed.  And the next day, I did everything I was told.  I stomped into the gym about ten minutes before my appointment.  I waited until everyone in front of me was taken care of.  And then...

I was told that no one was there to meet me for my appointment.

Yeah.

The gym bunny behind the desk waved her arm rather dismissively at the treadmills and other implements of Satan and told me to "go ahead and warm up and Tony would be here soon."    Despite the fact that she had no idea if I knew anything about operating one of these machines, she felt comfortable not worrying about my well-being at all. 

Now, did I start screaming?  Did I snap her scrawny neck like a twig?  No.  I went over to the [curses deleted] treadmill.  And at nine-thirty, I walked back over to the desk.  And, as you may have guessed, Tony the Trainer still wasn't there.

I went home.

Tony the Trainer called later, to apologize and offer me three free training session.  As I was about to leave for another appointment, I told him I would call him back later to discuss the situation.  At this point, I have no idea why I would want training sessions, free or otherwise, with someone who may or may not show up.  I have no idea why I have a membership with a gym that has such horrible customer service.  I have no idea how I got talked into this freaking exercise crap to begin with!

Oh, wait.  The last one, I know.  It's because my ass has its own zip code.

Sigh.  Exercise.  Gyms.  Trainers.

Maybe I'll just stay fat.