Personally training

I had no idea what to expect during my meeting with the personal trainer, so I dressed in yoga pants, but did not bring a lock or a towel.  I requested a female so that I could act as normal as possible.  I thought she was nice, knowledgeable, and she laughed at my jokes, so I was pleased overall.  She was a little unrealistic, though, as are all of these people who seem to live at the gym.  She laid out her plans for me which included doing cardio six times a week and weights three times a week.  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

I asked her if we could start with something more realistic, so she suggested that I start with cardio twice a week and work up to six times a week.  “You NEED a day off,” she told me seriously.

Ok, well I’ll try really hard to make sure I take a day off.  In fact, I feel motivated enough to start that right now.

She taught me how to use many, many machines and warned me not to watch the people around me as many of them will be doing it wrong.  There are some machines that I think I could actually go use by myself without making a few half-hearted gestures before looking around for help.  Some of them I will never touch again.  Right now I feel like it’s possible to go use them, but who knows if I ever will because the whole point to this was to join some classes that teach me as I go.  I could buy some more sessions with a personal trainer, but they are flippin expensive.  I tried to pay attention and remember as much as possible, but I honestly don’t know if I will go back and work on those machines by myself.  My trainer was funny, though, suggesting that we go lift some barbells, because that’s macho and it’s fun to go do macho things.  Then we’re on some machine and she changes out the weights.  When we’re done I try to help put the weight back on and she explains that you’re supposed to clear the weight when you’re done.  “This was probably used last by some man who thinks his mommy is going to come clean up after him.”  She says this while we are surrounded by men.  Hee hee hee.

She thinks I ought to go to a chiropractor for my continuing back problems.  She said that it’s probably still inflamed, and if it’s been this long, I probably need some help.  I told her that I am afraid of them, but she still thinks I should go.

So I just read this article Monday (?) in Better Homes & Gardens about making exercise a habit, and it says it takes on average 66 days of actively forcing yourself until it becomes kind of automatic.  That is a pretty long time, but at least I’m prepared.  I have a little calendar that I can move to the front of my fridge, which is becoming Workout Coordination Headquarters.  If I can see how long I’ve been going, maybe I won’t want to ruin my streak.  Of course, right now we have a grand total of one day.  WOOOOO!  I was just telling Tracy that I think I will go to Zumba tonight, if only to make some half-hearted gestures and look around for help.  I doubt I’ll expend much energy while I don’t know what’s going on, but at least I can kind of mark the steps and start figuring it out.  That counts.

Now that I have written that here, I think I’ll have to go.  I already laid out my workout clothes, as the BH&G article suggested.  Thankfully, I’m cheap and I already paid, and I want my money’s worth.  I want a DEAL.  If I go to enough classes, it will work out to be worthy of my Kohl’s deals.  Well, maybe not.  It would be pretty hard to beat them.

Alright, Tracy.  I just spent my measly lunch break writing this, and now I can’t go outside and get some fresh air.  It’s all your fault, and you’ll likely hear about it during our daily phone call.  When we talk, tell me to go work out my anger at the gym.