This issue, I’m writing about something that might shock you: fitness. Take a moment to steady yourself. Sip some water. Take slow, deep, breaths. You OK? Good. Let’s continue.
I reiterate: I, fabulicious, have been workin’ on my fitness. No joke. They’re ice skating in Hades, dahling.
Considering the fact that 40 was rapidly approaching, I decided it was time to ditch my precious ciggies, lighten up on the vodka (and champagne … and tequila … oh, how the list goes on), finally make friends with vegetables and — gasp! — develop a fitness regime.
My plan lingered in the development stage for a few months. This was due to three reasons: 1) Sloth and I are dear, old friends, 2) I heart sugar-laden treats, and, 3) I’m not a fan of most gyms and gym people. There, I said it: Gym culture freaks me out. I don’t want to buy the gear and show up to the group sessions and chat with all the gymmies about gymness. I’m not saying it’s wrong; I’m just saying it’s not my thing.
Enter personal trainer Jonathan Rockwell, founder of The Machine Training Systems (505.573.5753). I’d heard about him from a trusted friend who shares the same slacker values and gym phobia as I. Even so, I still worried. I’d tried several gyms and several personal trainers over the years. No bueno. However, 40 was breathing down my neck, so I took the plunge one more time.
“Expect to achieve your goals,” he declared at our first meeting. “Let’s begin.”
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