Dear Les Mills
I mean this with utter respect and love.
How dare you create such a horrid, unbearable workout routine called "Body Combat"? How dare you inspire a 300lb, adorable man to lose weight, become incredibly buff and decide to be one of your robots? How dare he become the head of fitness classes at my gym? And how dare he teach your punishing class when my normal kickboxing instructor was ill on Wednesday?
GO BLOW YOURSELF!
Mike (adorable head of fitness classes guy), introduced our fragile bodies to your special form of torture on Wednesday. After 25 minutes of muscle punishing, mindfucking work, I have decided that you must have something against fat people. And now you've warped poor Mike. Mike is sweet and fun while he's standing at the counter talking about diets, music or just having a good time. He'll even talk about eating a cheeseburger with extra bacon. But, when your music starts he turns into some sort of maniacal drill instructor screaming about "moving our fat asses" and such. Flames shoot out of his mohawk as he's running around the room yelling "HAAAAAAAAAAAAARDER" "FAAAAAAAASTER" "I want to see those hands up" PUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNCH IT!" He throws his hands up in front of us as we're punching (without gloves) and makes us hit his palms. Do you know that I hit him so hard I split my knuckle open? Thankfully, once your demonic symphony ended, Mike morphed back into his normal state and we were allowed to talk about cheeseburgers again. I am concerned for his well being. While he may look fabulous after losing over 100 lbs, I believe that you may have control over his mind.
PLEASE KISS MY ASS.
Mr. Mills, my body has never been in so much pain. On Thursday, I fell out of bed when I tried to get up. Walking up stairs was impossible - I had to crawl. Showering required excess moaning - and it wasn't from my wet n' vibrator. I hobbled through my day motivated by coffee and Extra Strength Tylenol. Fancy Pants was so worried about me that he offered to run home and grab me some Tylenol with Codeine. At one point he threatened to call Big K. Apparently I looked like "someone who had never drank before and was having their first hangover". I lay with my head on my desk for most of the afternoon, groaning if my phone rang. Even my hair hurt. Knowing that I had a yoga class that night brought tears to my eyes as I gobbled down more Tylenol.
I still hurt today. I fear that Mike will be teaching again tomorrow and that will put a damper on my entire weekend. I had planned to use my legs and arms do things other than lie on the couch and moan in pain. Important things like sex, yard work and maybe some more sex. If Mike tortures me again, I will be shot for the weekend. I won't even be able to hold a vibrator for the allotted 30 seconds that I need to polish myself off.
I just thought it was important for you to know that I hate you and damn you to the furthest reaches of hell.
Oh, and here's one more....FUCK YOU!
Love and Kisses,