Personal Training, Session One: I’m standing at the front desk, waiting for the mythical “Barbie” to appear. While I was sucking down water and aspirin earlier today, trying to shed my hangover, I started thinking about how judgmental I can be. I mean, why should I have instantly freaked out when I heard someone named Barbie was going to be my trainer? Sure, the name brings up images of gorgeous girls with long blonde hair, shiny white teeth, deep tans, and impossible-toachieve, completely enviable figures, but maybe this Barbie is different.

Maybe Trainer Barbie is a dark, homely girl with an overbite and she took up fitness to feel better about her hump and her skin condition. Yes, that’s it. Barbie is all hideous and disfigured and she will have a heart of gold and because of this, she’ll be devoted to nothing but making me lose weight…

I stand by the magazine rack and I’m about to pull out this week’s In Touch when I hear my name being called. I turn around and look for my gargoyle of a trainer.

But I don’t see any monsters.

All I see is a gorgeous girl with long blonde hair, shiny white teeth, a deep tan, and an impossible-to-achieve, completely enviable figure standing there. “Hey, are you Jen?” she asks. “I’m Barbie!”

Of course you are.