I am a Tubby Bitch

No other way to put it, really.

Last week, Kirsten and I, who had been wishy-washing about whether or not to have Kirsten join a health club so that she could work out between shifts, took the plunge and joined Bally's Total Fitness (or whatever they're called now) in Clayton. The price is a little enh, but workable into our budgets, I think.

Anyway, part of the deal with this thing was that we would get one free hour with a personal trainer. I figured I'd get Hans und Franz, und zey'd tell me vhat a little guhrly mahn I am und zat zey need to pump *clap* me up.

I actually got a dude named Ryan, who's about 5'8" tall and weighs 220 pounds or so. His goal, as he told me, was to lose weight down to 200 and get his body fat down under 6 percent. Ryan played high school football, wrestled, and did some other sport that I didn't catch.

In high school, I played chess. And got winded doing it.

Anyway, Ryan starts me out on this one-hour workout doodad, and queries, "How would you rate yourself, fitness-wise, on a scale of 1 to 10?" I thought about it, and said quite confidently that I was a four. Not too out-of-shape to make it up the stairs, I figured, but certainly not professional athlete-quality either.

Ha, ha, ha.

I lasted fourteen minutes with this guy. FOURTEEN FREAKING MINUTES. And it's not like we were doing anything that hard, either. Pushups, high lifts, some weird-ass squats involving inflatable balls; you know, simple stuff. The toe-touch prancing made me look like a moron, but whatever. It's not like I go to gyms to pick up chicks. So nothing fancy, but the fact that I couldn't last but 14 minutes of what Ryan called "nothing hard" is embarrasing. Seriously, I made a fucking fool out of myself.

I don't know that I've ever been embarrased by my body before - it's like I suddenly became 2002-era Anna Nicole Smith, just without the alcoholism and depression, and without any warning. Like I said, I never figured I was going to run any marathons, but I never thought I was out of shape, either. Guess I proved me wrong, eh?

I've got a follow-up workout with Ryan scheduled for next Wednesday. Let's hope I can make it, oh, 20 minutes this time.