She Satan

Before we get to the "She Satan" part, I must say this: I WISH A VERY HAPPY 50th BIRTHDAY TO MY MOMMA! She doesn't look 50 and she doesn't act 50!



Happy Birthday Mom, I love you!

I don't know if you remember but a few weeks ago I blogged about inventing a new way to lower yourself to the toilet after taking a class a bit above my fitness level at the gym. They'd forgotten to warn us to bring pain pills and a walker and I was basically f***ed for a week afterward. She also teaches the morning spin class and a menagerie of other classes. Jamie and I call her the "She Devil" and my sister calls her "Spawn of Satan". My sister, who is in amazing shape, walked out on her boot-camp class. Its unanimous folks...

So fast forward. Jamie and I have decided that we'll take this class today that starts at 9:45, we're pretty sure Spawn of Satan doesn't teach it, so we amble into the gym, sleep still in our eyes, hair a frazzle, around 9:30. We decide to do a sneaky little walk by just to make sure we're not being duped.

At that moment, we both gasp in unison. There in her steel gray zip up hoodie is the Devil herself. I pretend to drop a quarter and turn around, quickly retreating up the stairs to the cardio section before eye-lock occurs, Jamie follows suit. (I walk faster than she does, even when trying to be nonchalant.)

Oh schnap.

So we get going on the cardio equipment, and then she leaves. The joke's on us now. She'd taught the class before, she wasn't teaching this class. But she's so hard-core-crazy she doesn't sweat, so to the naked eye, you can't even tell she's just worked out.

Moral of the story, stay away from crazy hard-core she devils at the LA Fitness, unless your the teeny bald guy who likes pain. (We still haven't figured him out, he's like her puppy... only with no hair).