I Used to Think He Was Cute.

So last night, the Y finally decided to put us in a participating Total Body Challenge group, and actually set a meeting with a real trainer (and not the lifeguard pretending to be a trainer who only works in the mornings when our group is a night-people group). At first, I was excited. I was excited because we were finally feeling like we hadn't just donated $20 to the Y, and I was excited because our trainer is hot. (18, dark hair, buff as hell, pretty boy who makes you reconsider your stance on cradle-robbing hot.)

Well, now I don't think he's even cute any more. He sucks. He is one sadistic motherfucker.

Seriously. I have been working out regularly since March. I do lots of cardio, I lift weights 3 times a week, and I am not a wimp. At least I didn't think so until last night. BFRB has been working out since May, lifting weights A LOT. She thinks our trainer is a super-deluxe dick munch too, although she would still consider him as a dance partner for the horizontal mambo.

I don't think I have felt this incompetent (in a physical fitness sense) since 8th fucking grade. Last night we did "chest and tri's" (that would be triceps, those muscles on the underside of your upper arms, for those of you who are wise and don't make the mistake of going to the stupid gym.) I usually do 3 sets of 12-15 reps at 35-45 pounds on the tricep machine. I thought I was pretty okay there. Beep, wrong, thank you for playing. Our trainer, hereinafter referred to as "FuckStick", made us do that, plus some more free weight shit, plus some pull-up and push-up shit, plus chest presses, attempts at the bench press shit, and then, to top it all off, AB CRUNCH SHIT.

It's a damn good thing that typing doesn't require much arm movement, because I can't move the fuckers. If I lift them, they sort of flop uselessly at my sides (like that part in Harry Potter where the bones in his arm are removed).

Tonight, FuckStick expects us to do bicep curls. And lat pulldowns. And some more back exercises. As if.