My own personal hell

I detest working out

Exercise of any kind really.

Except Hockey, which isn’t super easy to play down here in the sauna south.

Husband was a personal trainer in college. He thinks that gives him permission, nay, the right, to holler at me like a drill sergeant and MAKE me work out.

I hate it.

So when Husband is home we go to the gym together. He always tries to get me to lift but I generally end up on an elliptical.

They face the TVs.

What can I say. I get bored fast.

But when we do lift together I put on such a display that I think that I’ve convinced Husband to NEVER take me to the gym ever again.

I realize that throwing a tantrum in the middle of a crowded gym is childish. That’s why I just flop around and act uninterested.

Also, I watch Husband lift which is really the only reason he gets me out of the house and to the gym.

Biceps are amazing things.

But I digress.

Husband never gives up. He always is trying to encourage me and get me to lift more weight and do more and “hey we should go to abs class together!”

Abs class is the equivalent of spending 15 minutes in hell.

Not LIKE hell. Actual hell.

And just when I think there is no way this man will EVER be seen in public with me again, let alone the gym we frequent, he forces me once again to go to the gym with him.

Its the biceps. I’m telling you.

So I entertain Husband’s enthusiasm. I won’t say I LIKE the gym yet. I just tolerate it at the moment.

Also he bribes me with yummy protein shakes after a workout.

I’m a sucker for food of any kind.

Even if it is healthy.

P.S. I’m writing this now because Husband just got sent back to EG (equitorial guinnea for you oil field newbs) and I plan on lifting nothing but a remote and a glass of wine tonight. bwahahahah!