25 Jan, 2012
what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man.
Posted by: lilblueticket In: Pearls
I am writing to you from the comfort of my home office not, as expected, from a hospital bed in traction. So that’s the first plus here.
Got home a little while ago from meeting with my trainer. Now, I know these dudes are paid to be excited about motivating and training fat girls and stuff, but I actually immediately felt some genuine enthusiasm from my guy and a sort of connection with him. Which makes me sound like a Bachelor contestant (again…all roads lead back to the Bachelor).
They originally had two trainers in mind for me, and when the big scary one didn’t have time they matched me with the littler scary one, who hasn’t been so scary yet but I weep for my fat ass on Saturday morning. We expected to do more of a full mini-workout tonight but spent a LOT of our time just getting to know each other and setting expectations, which was well worth the first session.
I was completely, brutally honest with him about how I gained and lost weight, how I’ve been maintaining, and what I eat. I said numbers out loud to him that I won’t say to any other human being. We talked about my goals and when the awful letters BMI came up I outright said “I don’t believe in that shit”. And you know what? He doesn’t either. We talked about my number goal and I told him I really don’t have one. I have an “I feel like the defender of the universe that I am” goal, and I’ll know when I’m getting close. I told him I can’t jump rope because I’m hand-eye uncoordinated, and he told me I wouldn’t believe the people he’s taught to jump rope. So from the beginning, we’re sympatico.
We went over my strong body (lower) and weak body (upper) and everything in between. We talked for 20 minutes about my foot and all the right and wrong things people have told me to do with it. He confirmed that my sister-girl (not to be confused with sister-wife) felesi could not be more right about the rower. He wants me off the treadmill for cardio and on the rower instead, and when he plunked my ass on that thing it was just like a little exergasm. He set up a workout for me. circuits of squats and pushups and crunches all punctuated by 8 minutes at a time on the rower. That’s my homework till I see him at 10 am Saturday for our first actual session.
He trains exactly the way I want to be trained. He trains you with your own body, as opposed to a bunch of fancy equipment. And that’s what I’m looking for — back to basics working out, the way God and Jack La Lane intended.
I also asked him for a list of group classes he thought would be good for me. He teaches two beginning DUT sessions (DUT is sort of the UFC version of crossfit), and another one he recommended was barbell training. They all fit into my schedule so I’m planning on gym tomorrow or Friday, training with him Saturday, and the barbell class on Sunday.
And after THAT…maybe traction.
But seriously, this is probably the most excited I’ve been about working out in…well, ever.
Oh, and he’s a boxer so he’s totally stoked I want to do some boxing training. And he’s also an MMA fighter and sports injury rehab guy. And fucking adorable. And young enough that it’s not out of the realm of mathematical possibility that I could actually be his mother. (Did I mention the fucking adorable part?)