Madge the trainer

We got a new personal trainer at the gym today. Hannah retired with heat stroke back to the UK. (Here's a woman who went for a run at midday in Cairns...of course she got heat stroke....sheesh, they had to medevac her to the airport.)

The new one's called Madonna, she really is. She was probably born when Madonna first made it big, which makes me feel old. I remember some friends going to see the real Madonna at the Hacienda when I was a student in Manchester, she was still pudgy and wore a lot of layers and lace and stuff. I never really got all that.(They said she was c@@p, and couldn't sing a note. Like a virgin was going to be a one hit wonder, shows what they knew).

My Madge takes all the gym stuff just as seriously as her namesake though. I cannot convince her that I don't use my triceps for anything, she keeps coming up with exercises to stop bingo wings. She has me doing some weird exercises on a step to get as I term them Buns of steel. (Don't laugh, every-one in the gym already did when I told Homer I was doing the "buns of steel" exercise, I didn't know they were listening until I heard the snickering).

I'll give her points for optimism though. She says that soon I'll be running. "What is this strange thing of which you speak?" I ask, "run-ning?" She explains to me that it is something that is faster than walking. "Ahh" I say, "You mean riding, riding in car."

(I know that as long as I am going faster than at least one other person I will survive the crocodile/ lion/ snake/ hippo attack. The wild beast will get them and I will get away.)