Elvis Knees

Last weekend I rejoined New York Sports Club for the 16th time. I'd been a member on and off since 10th grade and now that i moved back to New Jersey (gasp!!!) i had to once again sign my life away just because those little treadmill TVs are just about the most amazing invention since the Milano cookie.

Anyway, every time you sign up they offer you a free personal training session which always sounds super exciting right up until the day of your appointment. You think about all those great techniques you'll learn and how size 2 is just a few minutes away... when all of a sudden you remember that you just spent the past 8 hours at work and the last place you want to be is in a stinky, crowded gym full of people you avoided all through high school who will now see you sweating large stains in the pit region of your too-tight sorority tee shirt while simultaneously having your body fat measured and announced over the loud speaker.

I bitched and moaned and finally dragged myself over to the gym to meet Victor, hoping he had forgotten about the session and instead I could catch the last half hour of Tyra.
No such luck.
So we start to work out and luckily, he is most definitely not like the questionably gay trainer who asked me out during my last free personal training session(Please see "To Trim or Not To Trim")... except for the fact that Victor is EVIL.

FIRST, he tells me that my beautiful personalized Nike sneaks are crappy and i need new ones.
Fine, yesss they are 4 years old but they are PERSONALIZED!!! I spent many hours and many bong hits creating those magical sneakers! Plus, my dad had to pay a lot for the child slaves to embroider my last name into the side of those bad boys and i loooooooooooove them!

Next, we did some shoulder exercises. Victor told me i had horrible posture and it is truly terrible because i am only 23 and what's going to happen in another 10 years?! Grrrrrr.

"I don't need a free show!" Victor exclaimed, as i lay back on the giant green ball thing attempting to do sit-ups while my shorts rideth upeth. Now this... this was just rude. He is ugly!!! and kinda fat for a personal trainer, in my opinion! he should want my free upper leg/lower ass show!! If this wasn't enough for a Tuesday evening, then came the squats.
Regular squats. One-legged squats. Squats with weights much larger than my usual 5 pound limit.
Victor: "You have Elvis knees!"
Me: "What the fuck are Elvis knees!?"
Victor: "Look in the mirror"
well yes, that seems to be an awful lot of shaking, but sorry Victor, i actually have a job where i have to sit at a desk all day long and not teach boxing to fat mommies and eat subway 6 grams of fat or less subs because that's the only thing personal trainers probably eat!!! fuckers! And that is why i have Elvis knees and i like them just the way they are.
Then he dragged me into this office, pit stains and all, to pressure me into buying 5 more sessions for $400!
"Ummm I will definitely have to think about it"
IT BEING HOW MUCH I WANT TO THROW YOUR GLASSES INTO THE HUDSON AND THEN FEED YOU BABY DIARRHEA BECAUSE YOU CAN'T SEE!!!

Now my body hurts. All over. Bad. My legs. My weak shoulders. My free show area. Even my Elvis knees.
But at least it was free.