Death by Leg Day

Thou shalt not call thy trainer "old", lest you shall surely die.

I think my exact words were "you do alright for an old guy".  Only he didn't seem to take it as a complement.  Odd.

But to be fair, I was already on his list.  I'm the trouble stirrer-upper who invited another client of his and my workout partner out for girls night.  He did make some comment about "as long as I'm your trainer, that ain't happening."  When I innocently asked to what he was referring, he said me drinking margaritas.   The truth is-- drinking has pretty much lost its appeal to me since He-who-trains retold me a very well timed story about letting things get in my way.  And I didn't drink.  Nor did I eat anything that wasn't on my meal plan.  But apparently I'm guilty by association.  Actually, the Margarita Amigas are apparently all guilty.  (Though what happens at Girls Night Out stays at Girls Night Out, all of us were well behaved.)

We've however all been instructed to attend death by leg day.  I've been told that he expects me to last 17 minutes. (Last time I was invited to such a fun event, I made it 22 minutes.  And couldn't walk for a very long time.)

Praying the addage is true: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  Oy! To my congregation who will have to see me on Sunday, I apologize in advance for any whining, wincing, or awkward walking.