Dear Christy,
As my potential trainer, I feel it's only fair to consult my needs before we meet, and you tell me what to do. As this relationship goes, I'll pay you, and you'll tell me how to inflict pain on myself. Where's the fun in that? So I’ll tell you what to do first, establish SOME KIND OF CONTROL in this relationship, and then we'll go from there. How about that lil miss hard body?
Okay, first off, I need you to know a few things. Thing number one: I cope with humor. So, if you don’t laugh, then I don’t cope. All of this information is very, VERY, important, and also laughable. So, giggle, and absorb. Thing number two: I want to be a bad ass hard body hot momma. Okay, now you’re laughing a little TOO hard. Dude, seriously, pipe down. I’ll wait. I’ve got nothing but time to sit here on my cottage cheese ass and wait…you done? Okay.
Now, I need from you, an exercise program that turns cottage cheese into hard muscle without compromising my diet, and that includes a lot of rum punch. (It’s a new love I’ve discovered.) Also, I like nachos, caramel apple ciders from Starbucks, and thick yummy cheesy soups. And bread, and also, I’m officially refusing to give up chocolate muffins. I need a sweet late at night. If you can’t help me, fine. But you strike me to be the type to accept a good challenge. So, there. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to develop an exercise program that doesn’t require compromising my bad eating habits and ‘occasional’ rum punch.
And now, insert a brief history of me: I’ve always been tall, and naturally fell into athlete mode. I sucked at volleyball, but hated playing basketball (I prefer to have the net BETWEEN me and my opponents). I’m a flake, and apparently snowed some volleyball coach to give me a scholarship, citing that “you can’t teach height”. He was later fired. I was that bad. I red-shirted, then proceeded to waste 2 more years riding the bench. Somewhere in there, our college basketball team was losing girls to a bunch of injuries, enough in fact to be desperate enough for me to come render my services. I played, I got beat up, I was great at free throws, and basketball inevitably made me a better volleyball player. Next fall season for volleyball, I came out of nowhere, shocked everyone, including my own father and myself. I turned out fairly decent and enjoyed the last two years, which I now refer to as The Glory Days.
During that entire college stint, I hated my body. When I played basketball, I’d go to practice, and then go to volleyball spring practice. I was working out 4-6 hours a day, and still, never could get over my thunder thighs. I had this college boyfriend who dumped me a couple of years out of college. And that’s when I went ape shit at the gym. I went a little overboard, but never felt, or looked better. I was hot. I showed that putz. Haha, not really, never saw him again. But at my peak of fitness, I was so cute and fabulous, I met my husband. Poor guy. We got married, I put on a few pounds, and then I got pregnant with twins. Yeah, that did me in. I put on 85 pounds. The twins each weighed 40lbs. Ffine, they each weighed about 6.5 pounds. It took about a year to get that extra 85 pounds off, but I still have some to lose. Now my skin is stretched, I’ve got saggy A’s. Yeah, I said it. And I’m getting grey hair. I actually like the grey. So see, I have somewhat of a good self concept. I’m marked with the Scarlet A of motherhood, stretch marks…it looks like a tributaries map. Believe me, no amount of cocoa butter could have helped me. You’ve seen what I’m talking about, you’re eye level for crying out loud.
Sigh. Do you need a potty break or something? Sure, go ahead. I’ll wait.
Okay, so, what I want first and foremost is to be healthy. Cancer and heart disease on either sides of my family scream at me. It’s alarming. So, I want to be healthy. But can’t I just do that with exercise? Or are you going to give me the food lecture? Can we do that lecture after the holidays? Did I mention I’m a southern girl who loves to cook? Maybe you can come over for dinner sometime and I can lure you to the dark side…it’s soooo yummy.
So, my vanity says, hard body. I’d love to be that. It’s tough to imagine, let alone type. I want to have energy for fun and crazy activities with my kids, and also, I’m hoping for a better body in the bedroom. Can you help me? Or is that a different therapist?
Okay, I’ve got some kind of lower back thing. When I do full pushups (which I actually don’t do…I do pushups on my knees) but when I do full ones, I get a crazy pinch in my back, way low. And I end up at the masseur, begging him to rub what is virtually the top of my ass, it’s embarrassing, but necessary. Also, back in The Glory Days, when I’d schlep and bail out of summer workouts, and then show up in the fall for 3-a-days, and over extend my out of shape self, I developed Bursitis in my hips. I call them the great birthin hips. You can refer to them as that as well. It’s fun, and the first step to recovery, as we all know, is admitting you have a problem. Speaking of which, in an attempt to get the best body I can shape, I also find it pertinent to tell you, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m pear shaped. I’ve got a small top, and muy guapo bottom. I can wear a size small top, and have to wear large or extra large tops. I want the flab from my arms to stop flapping in the wind, but more importantly, I want my ass, birthin hips, thunder thighs, and saddle bags to all be proportionate to my tiny sagging A’s. And you can’t firm up my sagging A’s. If you do that, they’ll disappear. It’s the first place I lose weight, please don’t take my stretchmark-tainted saggy A’s from me. Please.
Let’s see, did I leave anything out? Oh yes. One last thing…you can’t beat me up so much that I can’t move. I’ve got those kids still….and they are NEEDY. Mommy this and mommy that. And I love being there for them. But if you make me not - oh, let’s say- able to walk…then that’s a problem.
So, name you’re price for all that, and I’ll pay you $5 for every inch I lose. What do you think?
p.s. Is vodka frowned upon in this whole process?
And that's how I roll.