You all know the drill by now.

Woman crutches her way into torture chamber.

Woman feels sorry for herself.

Woman does not want to be there, again.

Woman climbs onto the dreaded behemoth, the upright bicycle.

Woman spends ten minutes wishing she could at least go one full revolution forward.

Woman does not.

Woman climbs off of behemoth and is taken to the new device of pain that she would not manage last week.

Woman cannot manage device this week.

Woman goes to device, leg curls, 3 reps of 12 each.

Woman does not know if she is using right torture chamber language, leg curls, reps and such.

Woman does not care.

Woman has a favorite device because it does not demand that she extend herself too much.

Woman cannot stay on that device for the duration of the torture session.

Woman is bummed.

Woman learns how to stand and sit and stand and sit and stand and sit . . . without using her hands to push herself up, two reps of ten.

Woman is winded and just wants to sit and sit and sit and sit.

Woman enters the wheeled chair Olympics but she is the only participant, pulls herself with her legs three times around the room.

Woman no longer feels silly straddling a chair to pull herself around the room.

Woman is concerned about her sanity.

Woman sees man who looks familiar.

Woman wonders “Should I speak or nah?”

Woman speaks, calls out a name.

Man responds.

Shoot!

Woman recognizes man as first boyfriend in California.

Man does not seem to recognize woman.

Woman gains recognition by saying, “I am _______’s sister, rather than saying, “Hey you were my first boyfriend in California.

Man says, “You look different from the last time I saw you.”

Woman says, “I grew out my hair.”

Man says, “No, that’s not it; you’ve lost weight since the last time I saw you.”

Woman does not respond because Woman knows she was not fat the last time he saw her.

PHAT, maybe, but not FAT!

Woman knows, “I still look good.”

Boy, Bye!

Woman realizes this is the first time she leaves the torture chamber not mad about the torture.

Boy, Bye!