Personal Training For Weaklings

weakling.jpg

This post was going to be about my first 2 sessions with a personal trainer. How in the evaluation that was the first session we learned that I have no upper body strength, less flexibility and that parts of my body that usually get ignored hurt like hell as the PT twisted and stretched me. How after the second session when I actually exercised with weights I could not move the next day without screaming pain in at least seven distinct body parts.

But then I was trying to come up with a punny title on the _____ for Dummies theme and went to thesaurus.com for synonyms for weakling. What I discovered was too funny.

Main Entry:   weakling
Part of Speech:   noun
Definition:   baby
Synonyms:   big baby, butt, chicken*, chicken heart*, coward, cream puff*, crybaby, doormat, dotard, drip, fraidy cat, gutless wonder, invertebrate, jellyfish*, ladyfinger, lily liver, mama’s boy, mark, milksop, milquetoast, misfit, mouse, namby-pamby, nebbish, nerd, pantywaist, paper tiger, pushover, sad sack, scaredy-cat, shrinking violet, sissy, softie, sucker, tenderfoot, turkey, weak sister, weak tool, wimp*, wuss, yellow-belly

I was focusing on the physical while thesaurus.com clearly had the psychological in mind. My person favs are gutless wonder, milksop and pantywaist. Then to see if the encyclopedia could be of more help I discovered that Weakling had even greater range.

Weakling was a progressive black metal band from San Francisco. The band never toured and only made one album, Dead As Dreams, recorded in 1998 and released on tUMUlt Records in 2000.

I need to go find this recording so I can play it while my Personal Trainer works to make a man out of this namby-pamby.

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2 Responses to Personal Training For Weaklings

  1. Frank says:

    He wants to Pump. You up.

    Thanks for the laughs this morning, buddy. Trust me, you’re no namby-pamby. And you’re out rockin in the free world. Smiling, my friend, smiling.

  2. Clarissa Spencer says:

    By the time I was five, I had already decided with absolute certainty, two things:
    1) arm and upper body muscles do not look ‘good’ (as in do not look girlishly feminine)in a dress and,
    2) I hated boy clothes and would forever have as my number one priority in life: looking as girlishly feminine as possible in a dress!
    From that point on I went way out of my way to avoid doing anything that could potentially cause me to build muscles. I managed to retain my weakling, wussy, slight, svelt, slender, tender, delicate, effete, soft, supple, agile, girlish slip of a figure quite easily right up till freshman year of high school, by which time I would quiver with swishy delirium every time I would step up my hairless, perfumed, moisturized, pantyhose, bra, slip and corset clad figure onto the bathroom scale and see, at age 15: 85 lbs!
    Then came mandatory weight training in phys ed class!… and this one coach…I guess my obviously effeminate body, shoulder length hair and overtly apparent disgust for all sports really bothered the guy because he immediately targeted me as a girlyboy in need of forced masculinization. Well, even after faking my way through the first two days of weight training (difficult with him watching me like a hawk!) I was still sore as hell in my arms and upper body. In fact, after just those two faked days, my arms hurt so badly I could barely brush my long hair, fasten a bra clip behind my back and tightly lace my favorite white satin corset without whimpering in pain. To make the matter even more terrifying, I noticed my tiny muscles in my arms were firm and clearly at some hideous early growth initiation stage. Right then I knew I had to do something fast, thorough, serious and permanent. So the next weight training day, at the start of bench press reps, when my spotter was distracted by some girls walking by, I added enough extra weight to the bar to weight it into what I was certain was an unsafe zone. Then, I enacted my ingenious master plan: at rep #1, right after the coach took his eyes off me then left the room I used all the might I could muster to lift the bar to just before straightened elbows then “Crash!” and “Ahhh! Girly scream as I strategically collapsed my right arm causing the bar and weights to crash on to the floor on my right side, followed by a masterfully feigned crying whimper! Well, long story short, the rest went down like clockwork as I was able to get my doctor to exempt me from PE for the rest of the school year and from weight training forever! The coach was so pissed at me that he must have told the Admin that he didn’t even want me around because the day after presenting the coach with my doctor’s note, I was summoned to see a pretty, young, lipstick lesbian counselor who was known as a male hater. Well she told me that ‘we’ had to place me into some other activity for that time slot and asked me what my hobbies were. I looked at her with pleading, sad, puppy dog eyes, lifted my right arm while letting the wrist fall limp as wet panties as I enthusiastically said: “I’ve always wanted to learn SEWING!”. Well, she grinned ear to ear as though she had just lopped of both my nuts with my response being to thank her profusely for doing so and wham! Next I knew I was at a sewing machine in the home Ec room as essentially “just one of the girls”, looking out the side wall of windows at the boys getting stinky, sweaty and sore in the PE class I liberated myself from! Well, jumping ahead dear readers, may I just say the I am now 38, more girlishly looking and acting than ever and I still hold as my dearest pleasure in life, dressing up and making up to the mincing nines in full girl’s/women’s attire, quivering from pretty painted face to painted toe nails with uber pantywaistesque delight, having mastered my ultra femininisissyness to the point where I now easily pass in public as not just a REAL girl, but as one ten years younger! And I would LOVE to have that dickwad coach, the football jocks, and Cory P. (‘my’ bully) see just what kind of a soft, EXTREMELY weak, meek, effete and ever so sweet, sashaying simp of a sissy’s sissy, intensely committed, hopelessly indulgent, transvestite fairy I ensured I would become! And most of all I want them to note without question that I look as ‘good’ in a dress as I did at age fifteen! YESSSSSSSS!!!!!

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