Take THAT, Miss Itty Bitty!

Day two:  Working out with skinny people

I've been hanging out with a personal trainer for a few months now. Despite the cosmetic evidence to the contrary, I love to work out.  If I ate properly as diligently as I worked out, I'd look more like Jillian Michaels and less like Chris Farley right about now.  I'm workin' on it.

My awesome (by "awesome", I mean "skinny") friend Jen and I have been sharing personal training sessions for a while.  She texted me the other day and asked if I'd mind if she brought along her ALSO SKINNY sister-in-law (by "ALSO SKINNY", I mean "cheerleading, Zumba dancing, teeny tiny size two wearing").  I admit I was slightly intimidated at the thought.  I was sure that Miss Itty Bitty was going to come in there and wipe the floor with the both of us (by "the both of us", I mean "me").  I imagined her standing over me with her foot in my back, flexing her miniature-but-chiseled bicep, laughing in that sinister way that skinny blonde girls do. 

As we got into the workout, I became less and less worried and...well...okay...mildly ecstatic.  Itty Bitty huffed.  She puffed.  She struggled.  She groaned.  She grunted.  She got nauseous.  

I laughed--to myself, of course.

I'm not completely heartless.

Poor Itty Bitty.  She didn't know that when she met me this morning, she would become the personification of all the skinny girls from high school who ever made me feel bad about myself.  I was secretly out to defeat her, though the battle really wasn't with her.  So I guess I owe her some thanks.  By letting me show her up, Itty Bitty helped me gain a small personal victory.  Don't get me wrong.  I like her.  I just needed to beat her.  

Sorry I'm not sorry.