Many of you know Karen of the blog Karen Sugarpants. Well, good news for us! She has agreed to contribute her new adventure with us. Yes, that dreaded weight loss/fitness/diet. She will be contributing new essays here at Mommybloggers. And seriously? Who doesn't love anything with a topic category of Muffintop? So here, without more of my ramblings, I bring you Karen's ffirst entry into our Karen's Muffintop Experience category.

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I've been cheating on you, dear readers. Averaging one post a week here for the last while is a direct result of my infidelity to this website, and I'm sorry.

I've been working on something bigger. Not necessarily better, just bigger.

My ass.

Rather than bore the living crap out of you with BMI (high), nutrition (meager), and cardio (pathetic), I thought I'd bring you the lighter side (pun intended) of getting into shape.

Welcome to a new category here at Sugarpants: Muffintop.

My personal trainer, G, is a young skinny bitch with the authority to kick my ass. I gave her that right when I signed on 8 sessions ago. I told her I wanted to "work out like an athlete, not a housewife."

Little did I know she has been moonlighting as a torture expert for the CIA.

Punishing me is her favorite activity. My arms and legs have felt the hopeless defeat of "3 more" several times. My muscles have gotten to the point where I could not lift my arm or stand without feeling like my ass might fall off (one can only hope). She makes me laugh so hard when we do the ab work, I'm a useless Gumby by 15. Or um, 5.

During exercise, I hate her. I mean, I don't hate her hate her, but Oh Em Gee she is tough. And she has no heart.

Last night she informed me we were getting to the end of our 12 sessions and I should purchase more sessions this week because her review is coming up so she will be more expensive after that because she'll be a "Master."

"Do I have to call you that? Master?" I asked.

She laughed, "No I'll be a "Master Trainer."

"Yes Master," I teased. I made a few more Master jokes as we finished the weight machines and we went to the mats to do abs. Face up, I held her ankles and tried to kick her in the face do leglifts but she always won and pushed me down first.

Still making fun of her new title, we giggled like a couple of idiots through 45 32 21 8 leglifts before I asked her if I could call her Master Homie G In Da House.

She insisted. I'm totally going to buy her a giant clock to wear around her neck. Maybe it will weigh her head down low enough so I can kick her in the face.