Man, I hate this woman. I really, really, really hate this woman. When she’s standing over me, telling me to keep my back straight with her GOD D@#@ KETTLE BELLS. I hate her. I hate her so much; I mutter to myself and give her the evil eye. You know what my evil eye does – it makes her pour cereal in her tea mug the next day, that’s what! Man does this woman make me mad; especially when she makes me use the BLACK GOD D@#@ KETTLE BELLS. I hate this woman 5 days later when my legs STILL HURT.
Of course, after about 20 minutes of working out with her, I’m too tired to be mad, and there no recovery possible for my completely deflated male ego.
You know what I don’t hate – I don’t hate the fact that I can already feel an improvement in my cycling and rock climbing. I don’t hate that I can already feel my legs becoming a little less chicken like. And I don’t really hate Melody S. She’ll kick your ass and make you’ll love her for it.
