Dear Nefertiti,
My entire body hurts, including my fingernails and eyeballs. Did you know it was possible for eyeballs to hurt from a kickboxing class? Kickboxing seems like such an innocuous name for your class. Perhaps you should consider renaming the class ”Nazi Gestapo Torture without the Gassing” or “Death Squat Torture Camp with Nefertiti” or “Count Louder You Sniveling Pathetic Excuse of a Woman or I’ll Make You Do Sixteen More.”
These names may seem long but it is an accurate description of what happens in that mirrored sweat smelling room of yours. Recently, you’ve added weights to our class. I sort of hate you for this. And yet, I keep coming back for torture three times a week, even waking up at ungodly hours on a Saturday to attend.
Why you might ask would I put myself through a class that feels like a cross between a Gulag camps and Guantanamo? Because I can now get into the jeans I was wearing on my first date with Husband in 1999. Don’t worry though, I’ll still keep attending since I still have to suck in to get them on.
With Legs of Jelly,
Parsingtime
PS Making me kickbox with you today when no one else turned up? Just plain mean, especially when you wouldn’t stop the jumping squats even though I was having a heart attack .
PPS The scale has not moved one little pound. I definitely hate the scale.
