michael murray

About a year ago I lined up a personal trainer for myself. Her name was Anastasiya, and she was a 22 year-old that had recently emigrated to Canada from Russia. Amongst her hobbies were beach volleyball, mature gentlemen and running. Her rates were very reasonable, and she agreed to come to our apartment three times a week while Rachelle was at work, so that she could conduct my workout sessions. Unfortunately, before we could begin I discovered that I had a torn diaphragm and couldn’t participate in any strenuous activity and so I had to cancel our plans. Anastasiya seemed disappointed when I broke the news to her, “Am very sad, was looking forward to bringing you the comfort,” she said.

Well, it’s taken forever, but it finally looks like I’m going to have surgery for my tear, and so Rachelle has taken the initiative to find a trainer to help me with my rehabilitation, picking some 41 year-old Jamaican dude named Treshaun. Apparently, he lives on a diet of nuts, seeds and mangos.

As Rachelle was showing me his web page, which had a kind of creepy photograph of him, shirtless, crouched in the snow like a tiger, Rachelle commented, “Oh, Michael, look how his smooth, black skin contrasts so sharply with the snow!”

Seemed like a weird thing to say.

“I guess," I said, "but what about Anastasiya? She seemed nice.”

“Her phone line was disconnected because she was a dirty whore. Michael, didn’t you think it was odd that there wasn’t a photograph of her on her website, but just an avatar?”

“You just hate Russians.”

“ Treshaun is a CERTIFIED personal trainer. He’ll create a meal plan for you and work with you three times a week. It will be good for you.”

“Does he know I don’t like fruit? I’m not eating a fruit diet, and if he wants me to get some warrior tattoo, well, he can just fuck off!”

“You’re not going to have to get a warrior tattoo. Oh, and Trey…”

“Who?”

“I mean Treshaun, he’ll be swinging by my work before your sessions. I thought it might be a good opportunity for me to get in shape, too. A few of the girls thought it would be a fun thing to do as a group, so we’re all going to do it!”

And then Rachelle’s phone rang-- some new reggae inflected ring tone I had never heard before-- and she ran off to the next room, giggling, to take the call.