One for me, one for the hubby. And off to the gym we went. Or he went, because, true to form, I don't go to gyms after buying a membership.
"So?" I asked. "What's it like?"
"Nice place," he said. "Small. Nice people. I think you'll like it."
One day. Two days. Three days...I even packed a gym bag.
"My trainer wants to know when you're going to show up."
"Do I HAVE to?"
"No. But you did spend the ten bucks. You should go at least once."
"Okay. Maybe tomorrow. What's the trainer's name?"
"Johnny. Johnny Walker."
Seriously.
Two more days. The bag was still sitting in the car when I was out doing errands and happened to drive past the gym.
Oh, what's it going to hurt?
I stopped in. The first person to greet me was...Johnny Walker. He set me up with an appointment for my first personal training session, the very next day. And then threatened me with a follow-up phone call if I was a no show. I was about to do something I'd never done before in my entire life: Go back a second time.
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