20 Minutes

20 Minutes? 20 Minutes My Aunt Fanny! That workout was much longer. At least 25 minutes. I'm setting my stopwatch 
tomorrow. I'll get back to you on that. The last time 20 minutes took that long, I was having a root canal.

I roll out of bed before 5 AM looking like road kill and Jillian (JM) shows up wearing a smile, a skimpy sports bra and a pair of sweats cut so low, I'm not sure if I'm more impressed with her six-pack or her bikini wax.


One look at her and I'm guessing it took a little longer than 30 days to shred that body. 


She's as tough as she looks and she came to play. Seconds into the warm-up and my feet are off the ground. High Impact. Yikes! JM does not take prisoners.

"If you're looking for the modified version of a jumping jack, look elsewhere," she taunts. "I have 400 lb people who can do jumping jacks!" (Sure, but do they still have knees?)


As we start the first strength training circuit she orders me to the floor for push-ups. Ugh. Thankfully she allows a modification and my knees hit the deck for 'sissy' push-ups.


At the onset of our first cardio session her smile is gone(ditto for me) and so are her concessions.


"You can't expect to get results in 20 minutes by phoning it in!" she barks. (Really? Because, I was sort of hoping...)


No breaks are allowed and when we begin the first set of abs, I am just grateful that I get to lie down.


During the third set of abs she says, "I know you feel that knot in your gut!"


"Finally!" I think. "A little compassion."


I am wrong.


"That's fear getting ready to leave your body!"


This time she's wrong.


That's not fear. I'm pretty sure that's breakfast getting ready to leave my body. And it only took 20 minutes.