2:15 pm February 6, 2009luckily
I have this friend, Heidi. She is a personal trainer. (But I’ve known her since before she became a personal trainer.) She prides herself on being somewhat of a hard-core, make-you-cry sort of a personal trainer. (But I’ve known her since she was just a hard-core, make-you-cry sort of a friend… not really. She is actually a very gentle, kind friend.) Heidi and I used to live next door to each other, several years ago. We would go to Gold’s Gym in the mornings together. I would jog in place for 45 seconds and do 3 sit-ups and attempt to call it a work-out. Heidi would then give me an intimidating look, and smack me with a licorice whip, and bark at me to stop being such a pansy and give her 20 more of whatever I was doing. Plus she liked to add more weight to whatever I was doing. But sometimes real sneaky-like — like when we were talking and I was looking at my chubby butt in the mirror — because she had it in her mind that I was much stronger than I actually am. And this is what we did. She played the role of drill sergeant and I played of the role of lazy sissy. It worked for us.
Then we both moved. After she moved: she became a real personal trainer, watched me roll from a golf cart, ran a marathon, had her third kid, and then promptly got skinny/buff again. After I moved: I continued to work on my still-not-finished book, rolled from a golf cart, ran a 5K, had my third kid, and then promptly picked up a licorice habit that has aided in my ever expanding butt. One of us is a little more focused than the other… but we are equally skilled at getting knocked up.
So the other night Heidi and I went to a movie. Then I mentioned how I was chubby and not happy about it. She told me that she had a 10Am slot open at her gym. I told her that my grandma comes over once a week to help me out by watching Deacon while I do stuff. It seemed perfect.
Thursday morning I got a text (which cost me 40 cents because I no longer have a text plan on my phone) from her asking if I was coming over to her gym. She promised to be nice. And so I did. I went over and had her train me.
And it was one sad looking spectacle.
Some of my muscles were atrophied and some were tight. Some were out of shape and some were hibernating. None of my muscles were smooth or lithe or able to lift any more weight than that of a Diet Coke can or a bag of Pull-n-Peels. I am completely out of shape. She gestured toward the mirrors that covered the walls, trying to show me exactly how my body was working incorrectly. “Your knees are coming in on your squats,” she said. “But it’s hard to tell because your sweats are so baggy.” What I didn’t tell her was that my “sweats” were actually my pajama pants, and my real work-out yoga pants would not fit onto my body at the moment… other than if I were to use them as a headband. But to better help me see my stupid inward bending knees, she grabbed my sweatpants and pulled them in tight, allowing me to get a really good view of my chubby legs doing squats. I sort of felt like crying. Or punching her. Bless her sweet, buff heart. And then she barked (nicely) for me to give her 15 more.
I’ll be honest: it shouldn’t have been much of a work-out, but it was. After months of inactivity, just carrying the baby’s car seat from the car to the door has me a little winded. Heidi was perfect, though; making me work, but not making me die. I woke up this morning with sore legs and sore arms, and sore I’m-not-sure-what-they’re-for muscles in my back. And then I humped it over to my in-laws house where I did a couple miles on the treadmill. Nothing major, just enough to keep my Frankenstein legs from becoming completely stiff and snapping off of my body.
Next Thursday I’ll be back at Heidi’s gym, listening to her bark (nicely) at me. And I’m actively weaning myself from the licorice. And consciously eating more lean protein and veggies.
And with any luck at all, I’ll be wearing my yoga pants as actual pants again in no time flat.
Which means I should be looking for a new headband.
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Well, aren’t you the motivated one. hmpf
Comment by Nerak — February 6, 2009 @ 5:56 pm
Well at least your sense of humor is still fine-tuned.
I picked up a copy of the Shred workout – with Jillian on the Biggest Loser – and she barks a lot and I’m scared, in my living room.
But the mighty sore muscles must mean something (good?) is happening. Right? RIGHT?
Comment by Lisa Milton — February 7, 2009 @ 1:21 pm
Good grief – as usual you have me roaring with laughter. It’s as if you climbed into my own life and wrote a blurb about it. I’m currently trying the “Lose Your Mummy Tummy” book to no avail…definitely need a nice but mean friend to whip me into shape!
Comment by Heather — February 9, 2009 @ 1:19 pm
Dude, I am totally counting the reading of this post my exercise for the week. I’m exhausted & sore from here.
(Yay for you though – it’s a good thing; eventually I’ll get my act together)
Comment by stephanie (bad mom) — February 12, 2009 @ 8:48 pm
I just started working with a trainer in February – for my biggest loser contest, which I am just a few weeks away from WINNING! It was just what I needed. I’m actually a little scared about how I’ll stay motivated once our time is through. She pushes me harder than I’d ever push myself, which is exactly why I’d gotten so overweight. I’m thinking I may have to make her my new BFF to keep the sessions going after the contest ends.
(P.S. I’ve signed up for my first 5K at the end of May!!!)
Comment by Leslie — April 6, 2009 @ 11:34 am