Exercise Diary
Nov. 14th, 2015 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
motgLegs: Hello? Looks like we’re going somewhere?
Brain: Guess.
Legs: The Beach again?
Brain: You wish.
Legs: Oh Good. We’re going down to the river. To the exercise machines. Joy.
Arms: You get it easy! We have to lift his whole body weight. Like hundreds of times.
Lungs: I don’t know why you make such a fuss. I get it tough.
Arms: Really? All you have to do is breathe. How hard can that be?
Lungs: He’s forgotten his asthma medication. Again. Ten minutes in and it will be bronchodilation required. Hello?
Brain: Stop complaining. You think you’ve got it tough? He makes me count. In different languages for every machine! All I want to do is enjoy the view, and instead I have to remember weird French counting? Sixty-ten? Fourscore-seventeen? How does that even make sense? And don’t start me on Gaelic. You get to twenty, then there’s this totally weird thing, and when you reach thirty you start a whole new way. And can someone please tell me why in Old Norse a hundred is really a hundred and twenty??? Plus he gets seventy in Greek wrong, like every sodding time?
Legs: Remember that time he made us run up and down mountains in Scotland. In the snow?
Brain: Shut up the lot of you and just do it!
(Arms pump, legs stretch ad nauseam.)
Stomach: Speaking of ad nauseam, can I just say these belly crunches make me want to barf?
Brain: Please don’t. Can you control yourself?
Stomach. Can you tell him to knock this off? Blergh.
Lungs: Can I have some more air please?
Arms: Have to say this weight loss thing has made our job totally easier? Like that was a hundred and he usually gives up at sixty?
Legs: Are we done yet? Can we go home now?
Brain: Not yet.
Lungs: Blergh.
Brain: Shut up.
Lungs: If I don't get more air soon I am going on strike and you will all stop whether you want to or not?
Stomach: I can’t keep doing this for much longer.
Everyone: Shut up.
Brain: Right, that’s a wrap. Stand down, everyone.
Everyone: Thank God for that.
Lungs: Thank God for ventolin.
Stomach: Does this mean beer now?
Brain: Yup. Soon as we get home.
Stomach: How much beer can one man drink in one lifetime?
Brain: A lot. Relax. He doesn’t drink much any more.
Stomach: Except for like a zillion drinks last Thursday?
Brain: That was different. And you had enough warning. Shut up.
Stomach: We’re home. Here comes the beer. Um… that’s pretty good. What is it?
Brain: MJ’s home brew.
Stomach: Aaaaahhhhh.
Brain: Excellent!!
(Everyone stops complaining and tries not to think about Doing It All Again tomorrow.)
Brain: Guess.
Legs: The Beach again?
Brain: You wish.
Legs: Oh Good. We’re going down to the river. To the exercise machines. Joy.
Arms: You get it easy! We have to lift his whole body weight. Like hundreds of times.
Lungs: I don’t know why you make such a fuss. I get it tough.
Arms: Really? All you have to do is breathe. How hard can that be?
Lungs: He’s forgotten his asthma medication. Again. Ten minutes in and it will be bronchodilation required. Hello?
Brain: Stop complaining. You think you’ve got it tough? He makes me count. In different languages for every machine! All I want to do is enjoy the view, and instead I have to remember weird French counting? Sixty-ten? Fourscore-seventeen? How does that even make sense? And don’t start me on Gaelic. You get to twenty, then there’s this totally weird thing, and when you reach thirty you start a whole new way. And can someone please tell me why in Old Norse a hundred is really a hundred and twenty??? Plus he gets seventy in Greek wrong, like every sodding time?
Legs: Remember that time he made us run up and down mountains in Scotland. In the snow?
Brain: Shut up the lot of you and just do it!
(Arms pump, legs stretch ad nauseam.)
Stomach: Speaking of ad nauseam, can I just say these belly crunches make me want to barf?
Brain: Please don’t. Can you control yourself?
Stomach. Can you tell him to knock this off? Blergh.
Lungs: Can I have some more air please?
Arms: Have to say this weight loss thing has made our job totally easier? Like that was a hundred and he usually gives up at sixty?
Legs: Are we done yet? Can we go home now?
Brain: Not yet.
Lungs: Blergh.
Brain: Shut up.
Lungs: If I don't get more air soon I am going on strike and you will all stop whether you want to or not?
Stomach: I can’t keep doing this for much longer.
Everyone: Shut up.
Brain: Right, that’s a wrap. Stand down, everyone.
Everyone: Thank God for that.
Lungs: Thank God for ventolin.
Stomach: Does this mean beer now?
Brain: Yup. Soon as we get home.
Stomach: How much beer can one man drink in one lifetime?
Brain: A lot. Relax. He doesn’t drink much any more.
Stomach: Except for like a zillion drinks last Thursday?
Brain: That was different. And you had enough warning. Shut up.
Stomach: We’re home. Here comes the beer. Um… that’s pretty good. What is it?
Brain: MJ’s home brew.
Stomach: Aaaaahhhhh.
Brain: Excellent!!
(Everyone stops complaining and tries not to think about Doing It All Again tomorrow.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-11-16 11:45 am (UTC)Exercise
Date: 2015-11-16 12:36 pm (UTC)Why thank you! This drinking less but enjoying it more thing really does work. And thank you again for all the lovely cards you sent to Mme.
*purrrr*