I've written here before how I belong to the best health club on the planet. Well, since Ironman and meeting all the triathlon peeps, Mrs. Greyhound has started working out with Maria Gratia, my first trainer from the club. Maria Gratia is an uber personal trainer who healed up my knee the fall before my fastest ever marathon. Beyond knowing physical therapy and anatomy, she knows the female mind, how it deals with food and what it sees in the mirror. She's had morbidly obese clients lose more than 150 pounds and change their lives.
Now, Mrs. Greyhound does not fall anywhere near that category, but with Maria Gratia's help, she's completely changed as well. Instead of excuses why she doesn't exercise, she's more likely to schedule her day around her exercise. Instead of rationalizing what goes in her mouth, she's more likely to treat her food as fuel. Much of this comes from the inside, but Maria Gratia is able to provide motivation that I cannot. All a spouse can do is cheerlead. If you try to motivate, it just sounds like nagging and actually has the opposite effect.
Well, the upshot of all this is that Mrs. Greyhound got on the club mailing list, which turned out to be kind of funny.
See the other day she received a flyer like this:
The purpose was to encourage her to join the club and get a spa certificate for her trouble. Now, the pictures on the outside are all well and good, but it was the inside that was really calculated to seal the deal. Because inside was this:
Don't you see it? Look closer:
It's the stud muffin she's been sleeping with for the last 18 years. If that doesn't get her in the door, nothing will.
I mean, you'd join, right?
Wait! Don't answer that.