the new personal trainer

my new personal trainer amy,
all one hundred and twelve pounds
of her, shows up
bouncing like a bunny
in her pink tights
and new lime green work out
shoes.
okay, okay, she says
cheerfully, clapping her hands.
let's start
with some stretches,
she turns on some music,
lively urban music with rhyming
curse words and says, let's
reach down and touch our toes.
why, is my response. for what?
they're very far away, I tell her.
i look down at my black
high top chuck taylor's.
can we start with knees,
I suggest. after all it's
the first day. she's still bouncing
on her toes, not one
ounce of her is jiggling,
which is disappointing.
have you had your coffee yet?
I yell out over the music.
I can warm us up
some cinnamon rolls if you'd like.
she comes over and puts her
hand on my back, then pushes
me forward,
my arms dangle towards my
feet, further she yells, go
for it, feel the pain.
which i do. it sounds like
sticks crackling in a barrel fire.
somehow i make it, my fingers
touch my toes. great, she says,
as if something wonderful
has just happened.
mt. Everest has been climbed.
okay, let's run in place now.
let's get the old heart going.
i begin to run, but not in place,
i run around the room,
the dog comes down after hearing
all the commotion
and starts running too.
he begins to bark and nip
at my heels. okay, okay, amy
yells, enough running. let's
do some more stretches. let's
lie down on our backs and breathe.
I got this one, I tell her.
but would it be okay if we changed
the music. I've got a Sinatra
record over there by the stereo.