I'm Back...and Sore

In addition to being a negligent blogger lately I've also been slacking on going to the gym. But last night I finally went to kickboxing class again and tonight I feel compelled to write about it.

So I was finally able to get to a class on time, which was great; unfortunately it was with my least favorite instructor. There are so many reasons I dislike him that it's difficult to get them down in an organized manner, but I'm willing to try:

1) He looks like an albino rat

2) He has a creepy blond moustache

3) He is way too enthusiastic about teaching this class, punctuating every shouted phrase with

a piercing, drawn-out "WOOOOOO!!!!!"

4) He abbreviates the phrase "No pain, no gain" into just "no pain," and I don't think this is just

his take on it, I actually don't think he knows the whole saying

5) He'll count down on whatever we're doing and then add extra sets just when we're finishing,

i.e. "Just five more squats, five, four, three, two, one, nine, eight, seven..." I don't mind doing

25 of anything, just don't tell me I only have to do 15 and spring the extras on me just when I

think I'm done

6) It seems like he only has us do certain things so he can show off how well he can do them, like

kicks in a direction that I can barely look in, let alone get my leg flail to

All of this, combined with his general hyper-zeal for cardio kickboxing puts me in an ornery mood as soon as I enter the fitness studio and hear the first beats of a Celine Dion ballad dance remix. I am rarely the sullen girl in the corner glaring at people- but ten minutes into the warm-up there I am, rolling my eyes and muttering "shut UP" while looking around for someone to make eye contact with so I can shake my head and make a "what is with this guy" face.

So why do I keep going back? One, like it or not it's a good work out and two, I keep hoping when we do kicks and he comes around with the target pad that one day I'll miss and give him a Nike to the Adam's apple.