Harnessing the healing power of snark
Today was “leg day” with my trainer at the gym.
She showed me this exercise she wanted me to do that was a combination of a squat, a squeeze, and a ballet position. It is designed to work your entire lower body, but it looked really hard. So I decided to try and stall for time.
Me: “I never took ballet. I’m too short to be a ballerina.”
My Trainer: “True. But you’re not too short to squeeze your ass.”
I never thought I would be writing these particular words about myself, but this is my 8th week of working out with a trainer. This, despite the fact that when I went in last Thursday for my lower body workout she greeted me by saying, “I don’t know if it’s because I’m in a bad mood or what, but I am TOTALLY gonna kick your ass today!”
Me: (totally lying, with giant fake grin and two thumbs up) “GREAT!” (because if I don’t at least fake happiness, she will just make the workout Even. Worse.)
I can say that I have seen myself make a lot of progress over the past eight weeks, and I think that is due at least in part to my setting the bar of expectations as low as is humanly possible in our first session together.
(Sample conversation from our first workout.)
Me: “And what did you say these were?…Legs, huh?”
Me: “And what do they do again?”
Unfortunately however, sometimes my previous exercise experience gets me into trouble. Because then my trainer discovers that I can do a bit more than I let on. Like the time she had me lay face-down on a balance ball and then curl my torso up, like a backwards sit-up, to work my back.
My trainer: “OK, go ahead and try this. You probably won’t be able to…”
Me: (curling up to almost 90 degrees)
My trainer: “Holy s*&%!””
Me: “Oh by the way, I’m really flexible.”
Or times like this.
My trainer: (hands me a couple of really heavy weights)
Me: (I am able to lift them.)
My trainer: “Wow, your triceps are really strong!”
Me: “I have no idea how that happened!”
But it is definitely worth it, because now I can go up to my husband, accost him with a random body part, yell, “Feel this!”, and there is actually something muscle-like for him to feel. (And he enjoys this much better than being accosted with random mystery items from the refrigerator and having to, “Smell this!”)
So anyway, I just wanted to check in here with this update, because the more people who know about this, the harder it is for me to weasel out of going. And also to say:
Yay me!
Today marks the 4 week anniversary of my hiring a personal trainer and-even more importantly-my actually showing up for the appointments.
I finally got tired of being unhappy with my body, and I decided that if I were going to figure out how to fix that on my own I would have done so by now, seeing as how I’ve had the past 33 years to try.
I had very specific requirements in mind for the person who would fill the role of my personal trainer. Specifically, they had to be someone to whom I could say, “I hate you, you evil sadistic bastard!”, and they would say, “That’s fine. You’re still doing squats.”
OK, so I would never actually say that out loud to anyone. But clearly I am speaking volumes with my eyes. Because occasionally as I’m working out my trainer will tell me to start a new exercise, look at my face, laugh, and then say, “I know. You’re welcome.”
So I’ve been doing really well this last month. I’d love to have dramatic photos to post here for you, but while I personally can see differences, they are not yet pronounced enough to produce a stunning visual contrast. But I did reach an important milestone today-I received my first training injury.
And if you know me At All, you will know exactly where this injury occurred. Yes, that’s right: I hurt my ass working out.
“Hm,” you might say. “I didn’t know that there was anything to hurt in your ass.”
You would be wrong.
Listen. Can you hear it? That is the sound of the Universe laughing.
(“Hm, so you like to use the word ‘ass’ as much as possible in your stories, do you? Well OK then-here ya go!”)
