“Let’s talk about your goals,” my physical trainer says. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I need to look good by July.”

I know this is very shallow. I should be trying to stay healthy all year round and I should be more concerned with having a strong heart than a firm middle. *Hangs head in shame*

“What’s in July?” he asks.

“I have to look good in front of hundreds of women,” I say, shame forgotten. “Everyone goes shopping for cute clothes and shoes. It’s the gathering of the year.”

I tried to explain the historical fashion show I’m a part of and how I’m presenting a workshop…let’s just say I don’t want to suck it in for four days.

I should have been warned by the gleam in his eyes.

“Oh, we can do July,” Mr. Strange says. (That’s my trainer’s name. Strange. I wish I wrote contemporaries so I could write him into something.)

So I woke up this morning barely able to walk after jump roping. I popped two Advil and dragged myself to the gym anyway. At one point in the workout he laughed diabolically when I was limping from the exercise bike to the mat. I swear, there was diabolicalness to it.

Then I ended the workout doing a fitness drink taste test because he insisted these were the ones that “tasted good”. I nodded politely and tried not to make a face. The grape one was better than the fruit punch.

“Take the whole bottle with you,” he offers.

“No, no.” I force a smile. “You can have it.”

He wants to start looking at a food journal starting next week to which I agreed. It’s really hard to trim down when you’re 5’1. There’s very little wiggle room. But I’m going to look good in July, darn it.

Maybe I should add a daily fitness goal to the Fast Draft goal?