Death to Smoochy

Ahhhh today. Today was the first day of GJ's workout with her personal trainer. Now GJ has been a "worker outer" for many years and is no pussy when it comes to making herself sweat. Really. GJ works out hard and if it wasn't for that damn Mountain Dew and eating random shit in the middle of the night she would probably weigh 34 lbs like all of her friends. In an effort to step it up even another notch, GJ decided to go with E who is one of her fitness instructors at the Y. E runs a gym out of her home called the E Gym, which is a very, very, very crafty name. Upon arrival GJ was weighed, measured and then brought down into what we will now refer to as the "DEPTHS OF HELL". And what followed was basically E's boot camp class from the Y, but oh...say...5000000000000 times worse. OMG. Death. GJ died. Approximately 45 minutes into this little workout GJ began to see black spots. Yes. Like "hi I'm going to pass out."

GJ: I think I'm going to throw up
E: No you aren't
GJ: Yes I am
E: No you are not
GJ: Yes
E: No
GJ: Where can I throw up? Wait, wait...my head might explode. I think my heart rate is 450.
E: I'll get you some juice
GJ: No. I don't want juice
E: I'll get you some
GJ: NO. I need to throw up (said in a very whiny voice)
E: Then throw up in the garbage (clearly not believing GJ)
GJ: I want to throw up in the toilet
E: No
GJ: Then I will throw up on your face
E: No. You are not going to throw up
GJ: Throwing up like a drunken frat boy in garbage can
E: I can't believe you threw up
GJ: Still throwing up AND shitting her pants
E: You didn't look like you were struggling
GJ: Still throwing up and thinking...the 70lbs of sweat on your floor and in my clothes and the fact that my face is the color of a beet did not indicate to you that I might be struggling????? How about the comment "I CANNOT DO ONE MORE LUNGE. I CANNOT. I WILL DIE. I'M DEAD..."