01/09/2002 Archived Entry: "Personal trainers"

I had my first session with the personal trainer yesterday, and boy, are my legs tired.

No, I'm serious. After warming up on a bike and stretching, the first thing the guy had me do was forty lunges, with a twelve pound weight in each hand, followed by twenty ballerina dips with a thirty pound weight gripped in my now-trembling fingers. Those two things blew my legs completely out and left me stumbling around for the remainder of the half-hour session. There was some other stuff, but it all passed by in a blur of accelerated-heart rate-induced pain. I'd thought that three months of aerobic exercise--four days a week, 30-45 minutes a day on a Precor elliptical walker--would prepare me for Personal Trainer Land, but I was quite wrong.

The good news, I suppose, is that Pete--that's his name--let me know that I didn't report feeling any more dead than any other first-timer.

Great. I'll feel much happier about that just as soon as I can walk normally again. Right now, I'm hobbling around like an arthritic monkey.

All bitching aside, the session made me realize two things: that I have a long way to go, and that when I get there, if I can take this much crap, I'm going to be DEAD SEXY. Oooh yeah.

(Actually, I'm just guessing about the second part, but a guy can dream, can't he?)

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