|Yeah. Not happening. I can't even stand getting my blood drawn.|
Monday, I donned my workhout gear, a Christmas present, perhaps in a cosmic apology for all the sweets that tempted me all season and still cling to my hips today. I got there early and ended up the only person in class, gaining me a personal session from the owner on my first day.
|This is Ryion (from his FB page). He's very sweet and upbeat, two good qualities when torturing people for their health.|
|I will be putting this in a book someday. The villainous overlord will suspend this over a pool of piranha, and if the victim stops, she will fall in...but he will require her to wear the safety harness.|
If I faltered, Ryion called out encouragement. When we were done, he congratulated me. "You did well! You made it through the whole class, and you didn't throw up! Come back tomorrow. I don't care how sore you are."
I signed up, yes, paying Ryion for the privilege of making me sweaty and achy for the next month. I came home to blog about my experience. When I saw the stairs to the basement, my legs wept.