I’ve recently joined a gym and started on that exercise regimen – ya know the one where you have a trainer and their sole reason for living is to make you hurt as much as possible. Oh, and laugh when the sweat gets in your eyes? Yeah…that’s my life now.
This morning I went to see my trainer after a rousing 15 minute bike ride. This trainer is female and my second trainer. My first was a male and I named him Torquemada. He used to say things to me like “Dig Deeper.” “Dig Deeper.” One day I replied, “You tell me to dig deeper once more and I swear to you you’ll be speaking soprano tomorrow morning.” Dig Deeper. Gahhhhh. Anyway, now I have this lovely lil teensy weensy young thing I could flip over my shoulder she’s so tiny. She may be tiny but she’s sure strong. She makes those exercises look like a piece of cake — then I try them and know that I can actually feel all my internal organs shifting as I heft that 10 lb dumbbell from my head crisscross to my opposite leg and back again. Ack.
Her favorite phrase is “Five More”. Today we worked on my core. Now I used to think a core was something that came out of an apple. Today I discovered a core is that part of me internally that screams and burns right about the time she starts hollering “Five More.” That’s my core. My core is like a volcano — if I have to do five more all my magma is gonna come bursting through my bedrock and ruin that gym.
Me and my bright ideas. After that grueling workout, I was lying (laying?) on the floor mat, draining the rest of my water. My trainer looked down at me, sweetly smiled and said, “Same time next Monday?” I wanted to rip out her throat but I was in the midst of flopping around the floor with a leg cramp. I hate it when that happens and I look stupid in front of all the buff girls working out with their weights. My trainer just keeps smiling and eats it all up….sigh…