So I broke down and hired a personal trainer.  Keep in mind, I AM a personal trainer, so for me to admit personal defeat is, well, defeating.  Regardless of how hard I work out anymore or how stellar my diet is, I cannot seem to regain my 32″ waistline.  Score is now … Universe, 1, M2, 0.

Like any good person in denial, I went for months in some sort of delusion over the size of my ass.  And my gut.  And my hips.  And … oh, you get the idea.  So I finally realized I wasn’t able to tackle this demon on my own.  It was gonna take drastic measures.  Like having my jaws wired shut.  Or start using meth.  (I’m still considering both of those, mind you.)

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and I went on the hunt for a trainer.  I got paired up with a young guy named Josh Sehorn.  When he introduced himself, I immediately said, “Do you meet all the child labor law requirements?”  To which he replied, “Oh, I am SO gonna enjoy kicking your ass.”

We spent the next five minutes in a delightful dance of dialogue.  “Do you have any idea how much of a bitch I’m going to be to you,” I announced.  “Do you realize what a complete dick I can be,” Josh retorted.  At least that’s what I think he said, I had already put in my earbuds … determined to ignore him.

Turns out Josh used to be chubby and had just undergone a massive metamorphosis that led to him becoming a personal trainer.   It just took one look at the before and after pics to realize how much blood, sweat and tears this kid had gone through.  So I checked my ego at the door.  Uh, and put down the bag of Cheetos.

I managed not to fart, swear or black out for nearly an hour.  (Just so we’re clear — the same rules apply to me being on TV.)  Although I did, for dramatic effect, curl up in the fetal position several times between sets.  I was going to fake a seizure, but figured I’d save that for the second session.  At the end of the first workout, Josh was excited to see me drenched in sweat.   A little too excited if you ask me.

On my way out the door, I said, “Just so we’re clear, I was on my BEST behavior tonight.”  “So was I,” Josh said.  And then he told me very matter-of-factly I could not drink one drop of alcohol for the next three months while I was training with him.  I said, “Even wine?!?”  He just looked at me.

I KNEW I should have feigned an epileptic attack.