Mrs. Dash

My awesome personal trainer has gone psycho nuts on me.   She went to a training camp for trainers, or something like that, in Virginia last week and I think they brain washed her.    Now at boot camp, she’s got us running and jumping and squatting and lifting weights like energizer bunnies, except we are more like the bunnies that run out of juice.  And she still can’t count, 30 seconds running should be the same length as 30 seconds rest in my opinion, not twice as long – call me fussy.  Also, please Mrs. Dash, when you lose count, starting over hurts!  So I dance, I do…I pretty much dance through all my exercises because it takes my mind off the pain…and I don’t care if I look stupid.

I’m not complaining too hard though, without her help and enthusiasm I could have been in serious trouble with a back injury.   I’m exercising myself out of that wheel chair that hangs like a phantom in my future – unless I dance – with Mrs. Dash, my awesome personal trainer…

When I look at this photo of myself I see a huge belly, when Mrs. Dash looks at it she sees toned legs and perfect form.  Neither of us have anything to say about my headwear.



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2 responses to “Mrs. Dash

  1. I see perfect form and what must be big balls, to wear that headgear!

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