Eye of the tiger!
August 4, 2009So I have a trainer now, which is hilarious for all kinds of reasons. Me, with a trainer! Who am I, Oprah? Do I get a cook next, or a lifestyle assistant? Who's responsible for these fucking soggy crudités, anyway? Also, there are at least three dead bugs in the reflecting pool. I cannot live like this.
I am betting that there are people out there who will assume the trainer was scheduled after one of my commenters railed against my enormous ass. (I had no idea my ass could make someone so angry. Not to mention my teeth! Let me at that weird freak who's like some kind of Pink Floyd cartoon! A giant walking ass with teeth coming out of it!) (Said commenter rocketed me back to seventh grade, when my group of "friends" sat me down and detailed everything that was wrong with my weird and misshapen body. Apparently I was problematic, and needed to be informed. No mention was made of my ass and teeth, strangely, but I do recall them being concerned with my overly pale complexion and need to grow breasts. I didn't go to the tanning salon or get implants, though, as I was twelve. Anyway, thanks, pals. As you can see I'm over it now. Sure, go ahead, friend me on Facebook! ) (However, if that commenter tries to friend me on Facebook, I will ignore her. I will ignore her so bad. Ah, delicious revenge.)
What was I—oh yes. My trainer! Actually I had scheduled time with the trainer after I joined the Y a few weeks ago and discovered just how cheap the personal training was, and also the one time I tried to use the weight machines I couldn't muster up the strength to adjust the seat (hmm, is the pin stuck? No it is not stuck I AM JUST WEAK AS AN ANEMIC KITTEN) and I was so horrified I scurried out of the room and back to the safety of the elliptical machines. I know how to use those things! You just put your feet on them and don't get distracted and fall off. Simple!
I may have fallen off a couple of times.
I told my trainer--whom I shall call Kevin, for that is his name—that my goal is to get strong. Freaky strong. "I want muscles, Kevin," I told him. "Big ones. Of course I know this isn't going to really happen, because I have the bone structure of a sparrow. But still, you get my point."
"I have never heard that before from any woman," said Kevin.
"Look," I told him. "My mom is in her seventies and can beat me at arm wrestling. She often does, for the amusement of her friends. This cannot continue."
Kevin nodded. "I see."
"Sometimes I arm wrestle with my son and I pretend to let him win, but sometimes I am not pretending. Seriously."
I waggled my tricep flab at him, and he had this weird coughing fit.
"Osteoporosis runs in my family, Kevin. My grandmother 's bones were like meringue. She sneezed and her face broke. KEVIN. DO NOT GIVE ME GIRLY EXERCISES WITH THREE-POUND WEIGHTS, DO YOU HEAR ME."
He heard me. Now I am walking funny, and I cry when I put on a shirt. But it's worth it, damn it. The next time my mom challenges me to a match, I am going to break her. (Not literally. The osteoporosis is from my dad's side.)
Reader Comments (84)
A good friend is a trainer and regularly complains about all the whimpering women who are all "oh, I don't want to be big and masculine" if he tries to give them something heavier than a 5 pound weight...as though 2 sets of bicepts curls is going to have them looking like The Hulk.
Does that make any sense?
Hey, if fish can go without bicycles...
Peace - Rene
I just started working out four weeks ago -- it's super hard at first and I wanted to throw myself out the window, but not before kicking my trainer's ass, but I've lost ten pounds and my body is reshaping itself. It's super cool. Still hard. Lots of cursing and spitting involved, but I'm sticking with it.
Anyhoo, once again, woman, you are so damned funny. And I need funny quite a bit lately. Yesterday was the day from hell with my 3 boys and good laugh was in order. Is it time to go back to school yet? If only.........
But the circles you "talk" are so freakin' hilarious. My only problem: YOU DON'T POST NEARLY ENOUGH!!!
Thanks for making me laugh.
When I was 12 I had friends take me aside in the cafeteria to scold me about a speech impediment. Yeah, I much prefer being an adult. I saw them at a high school reunion recently, and they all looked lousy. I, thanks to the aforementioned workouts, did not. That's the sweetest revenge.
Don't want crazy Madonna arms,but would like to be able to fall and not end up with 2 broken hips when I'm 62...
LET US KNOW!! What happens to the underam jiggle? What exercises take care of that ugly flab under your armpit squeezed out by your bra? (Meaning My bra, not your bra, like "one's bra..")
7th grade was a horrible year for me, too. I hope my daughter fares better than I did. Thankfully she is only 5 just yet and still a pretty secure in her awesomeness.
Another thing ('cause I cannot count and refuse to delete except if misspelled): I got the royal "These are your faults" from my "friends" after a wine fest (I live in Germany). We were all very drunk, and THEY went for the character: You do this, behave like that... With me in a corner, crying. I was so devastated that I drank and smoked WAY so much. I ended up in bed with a man I hardly new, had unprotected sex, and felt AWFUL the next morning, next week, month... All is good now, but I will never forgive them for making me feel so low. And I know that I need to protect myself from letting anyone make me feel like that ever again.
So your post hit a nerve with that small picture. How come we never forget that stuff? Would make a great longer post. Especially: How do you help your children grow up to be strong about these things? I need to think about that situation, I still get angry and sad when I think about it. Other women here have that same feeling, I gather.Sorry such a long post!
You had me at vagina. Wait, ENORMOUS ASS.
Yes.
Dimply,Joe
Our gym does not have cheap trainers, but it does have yoga... I'm glad your kind reader hasn't seen my ass. Can't imagine the slap down she'd be handing me!