“My clients call me Hitler,” my personal trainer told me at our first meeting. That might not be an exaggerated comparison. She put me on a diet of something like egg whites and sand. I can’t even deep-fry the sand. I weigh or measure every single thing I eat. Every grain of unsalted sand is accounted for. I’m starving. Earlier this week I was curled up on my mom’s couch in tears from muscle soreness. When my muscles refuse to work, when they burn with the build up of lactic acid, my trainer demands more reps at increased weight. The work out is tough. I think my new cardio plan will involve sprinting while pushing a boulder up a steep hill. Gone are the gym days of prancing on the treadmill while watching free cable TV. It is all worth it, though.
How did I get myself into this sadomasochistic mess? I simply caught myself without a goal. I was spending another day painting my toenails and making out with my dog when I realized I wasn’t doing anything at all. For years I was a student and had, by description, a goal of finishing school. I did that. Now I need to do something else.
I did the mind thing and now I’m doing the body thing. Why this particular goal? Well, there are many reasons. I’m fairly decent-looking, considering it’s my job to be fairly decent looking, however, I’m softer than I would like to be. There is no reason why I shouldn’t be happier with my body. People, especially women, are not typically thrilled with their physiques, but few make a dedication to change. At my age, there are no excuses not to bust ass. And as a dancer, it is my responsibility to look extra sexy. Times are hard in any sales job right now. It is literally a survival of the fittest at work lately. Another major reason to reassess my behavior was that I had entirely unhealthy habits of which I was aware and I knew I needed to change. Actually, my problem was a lack of habit. For example, I never went to sleep at the same time for two days in a row and I would rarely sleep for a full eight hours. So the trainer took away my single joy in life, caffeine, to correct my schedule. She really does live up to her reputation.
After deciding to give the trainer thing a serious shot, I browsed through trainer profiles and I picked my trainer by her picture alone. That seems shallow, but you should have seen the picture. Her impossibly low body fat and sculpted muscles were unreal. She is a prize winning competitive athlete and her body represents her hard work and discipline. She keeps me in constant pain and, although I’m groaning, I’m actually happy about it. I’m a little scared of her sometimes, though.
Previous Discussion: