Move it Move it Move it

It's Tuesday, and Tuesday is my  Train With The Enemy day. Our trainer is a former KGB instructor, I'm sure of it. And I'm a communist wannabe with capitalistic aspirations to be a buffed up spy movie star. Too bad we left California.

Training starts with a combination techno/pop music so quick you can jog right through this class. That is, if you're a high power spy in training. Our friendly KGB instructor has abs of steel,  killer behind and perfectly sculpted arm muscles that are not too masculine, yet perfectly defined. She is wearing  a 'grandpa tank top' and pumping her arms as I pray for help from the Divine.

Our KGB trainer has this eastern European accent, which made me mistake her for the Elderly Yiddish Training Instructor who trained my great aunt Bluma and her 70+ girlfriends in the park.

But no, our trainer is, for sure, no doubt about it, a former KGB personal.
SHTAND SHTREIGHT she yells, and we all grow an inch. My abs are trembling with fear as I SHTRETCH TWO THREE and I'm dreaming of being, maybe, one day, UP TWO THREE Jennifer Garner in some early Alias version.

Indeed I should. Because at the rate we MOVE IT MOVE IT, schlepping body bars and weights atop the big circus balls, using our abs and our breathes, our muscles and strength, I should have been Rocky Balboa by now, or at least Rockova Shtrongova.