Trainer Tracey hates me. She acts all nice and sweet, but secretly she wants me dead, or at the very least humiliated.
At my last training session she made me work out with those giant balls. Yes, the balls that have terrified me for years. She quickly realized I have zero coordination when I couldn’t simply toss the ball and catch it with my feet while laying on my back. So she punished me.
“Sarah, hold the ball between your thighs and pulsate.”
“Really? This isn’t a joke? You seriously want me to sit in the middle of a gym full of people with a ball between my thighs and pulsate?”
“If you weren’t such a great person, I’d really hate you right now.”
“I know. Now pulsate and count to 30.”
I did, but I wasn’t very happy about it. To make things worse, I got home and found my Gliding Discs had arrived in the mail. I finally gave up on using paper plates when I came home to find Daisy gnawing on them.
The good news is if the discs don’t glide me into my skinny jeans as promised I can use them to glide over to the freezer for consolation ice cream.