I'm going to be skinnyfat.

The other day I decided I was in a rut. Buying new clothes wasn't helping. Cutting off ties with the technological world(ie. being dramatic and deleting my facebook account) didn't quite hit the spot. Being philosophical and artsy got old. So I joined a gym. A fancy one. One that has really clean locker rooms, and televisions. And yoga classes. And hot men. I'm actually really excited about that part. The yoga, too. I figure I need to be more healthy, and work on being more active. It's not about losing a certain number of pounds, or looking a certain way for me. I just want to feel better. I decide to start my first work out session this morning.

Cut to this morning.
9:01 am - Alarm goes off. I hit snooze.
9:11 am - Repeat.
9:21 am - See above.
9:35 am - I realize I need to get up if I want any chance of being on time to that free session with the overly zealous trainer.
9:42 am - I can't find my shoes.
10:02 am - I walk in the gym, apologize for being an entire 2 minutes late, and end up filling out more paperwork.

I'm told not to lie on the form I'm filling out. Oh. Shucks. Because I was fully planning on doing so. I was going to tell you that I'm 120 lbs, and 5'2" and hope you'd just send me home instead of torturing me for the next 45 minutes.

I finished the form, followed one of the the trainers into the cardio theater (yeah. told you. fan-cy.), and the kid jumps around without any warning. He's inches from my face, and says, "ARE YOU READY?!" and waits for me to high five him. I'm convinced he's on speed at this point. I do some cardio, then go to do some other exercises, almost die, and finish up with a strong urge to puke in this guy's hand once he holds it up for the 27th high five in 15 minutes.

But. I don't. Success, right? My heart feels like it's giving up its last beating moments, but I'm alive. I survived the first day. Go me.

Cut to the trainers' office.
-"You NEEEED a personal trainer."
-"Being overweight leads to diabetes. And high cholesterol. And high blood pressure."
-"People just get fustrated with workouts, because they don't know what they're doing. That's what we're here for."
-"If you work out the wrong way, you'll just be a skinnier version of yourself. And you'll be skinnyfat."
-"These are the prices... Which one do you want to sign up for today? Oh. Nothing? But. But you NEED this. I don't... What? What's it going to take for you to sign up today?"


Dear Personal Trainer Justin...
Wanna know what being a douchebag leads to? It leads to having my foot lodged in your ass. And I'm frustrated with the face that you say "fustrated", fathead. And if people lose weight, then yes. They will be a skinnier version of themselves. That's what happens. In life. When things get smaller. They're a smaller version of the previous form. And no. I don't want another high five...

Instead of informing him of my thoughts, I politely nodded and said I'd have to think about it. I got another call from High Five Happy Boy. Ignored. Got a voicemail from High Five Happy Boy telling me to make sure I took in enough potassium for the day, so my lactic acid would move around in my body. Aka. "Go eat a banana so you'll stop being fat and move away from that ice cream I know you're about to eat." Yeah. Too late. I already had ice cream. And taquitos. And cherry coke. Calories don't count when you're PMSing, ok? You're a man, and you don't understand.

I'm allergic to bananas anyways.