burn baby burn

two weeks ago, my boyfriend took me to centro. the sight of scantily clad teens (i'm so lola, i know!) was enough to drive me to a fitness regimen that was so un-me.

yesterday, i took the weight loss program a step further. i finally made good my year-long promise to enroll in a gym and lost the flabs, sags, and everything else that's standing between me and a two-piece suit.

letting go of my hard-earned money, i thought at first, would be the difficult part. how come no one told me that the measurements would be emotionally traumatic? or that finding out that your bmi is higher than your age will send a couple of tsk-tsks from the trainer?

still raw from the trauma, i had to deal next with burning 200 calories on the treadmill. i finished game knb and judy ann's lousy soap before i finally managed to burn 200 effing calories (and to think that's just a small can of piknik!). i was almost dying from exhaustion. halfway through the routine they had planned for me i was cursing fruits in ice cream raspberry and the yummy fried rice and siomai and the NY fries and dips -- all of which i had consumed within the day.

ten machines, two hours, and a couple of free weights later, they finally let me free. i think they thought that it was enought that they'd made me burn the lunch i ate that day -- and only lunch -- but before they finally let me free from the torture chamber gym, they just had a couple of reminders:
no rice
yoghurt for breakfast
non-fat milk for dinner

can i die now?