So I started a new workout regime this week. I am working with a trainer in a group setting, hoping that this type of arena will provide the motivation needed to encourage me to ACTUALLY attend.
(Plus, I’ve already paid the trainer’s fees and he’s not interested in giving me a refund to swap for something more reasonable like a week’s worth of Starbucks coffee and a renewal of my Southern Living magazine. He’s very rigid that way.)
I have always been somewhat physically fit, playing multiple sports in high school and then basketball in college. Memberships in gyms were one of our first purchases in each new town, and our relocation to our current home was no exception. The only difference is that our current privileges only give us access to a very small weight room with a spattering of treadmills and elliptical machines.
I tried to make a go of it, but the early morning hours that are convenient for me are also desirable to those who seek the early bird specials. Don’t get me wrong. I love the elderly and feel like they have a lot of wisdom to offer; it’s just that I can’t work out next to them because I am distracted by worry. What if they fall off the treadmill? Or even worse, go into cardiac arrest? I’d have to use my superhero powers of trained First Aid professional to offer assistance:
“STAND BACK. (Using the same hand motions that NSYNC used when singing the song Bye, Bye, Bye.) I am a trained First Aid Professional. Sir, may I assist you? (It has always seemed rather ludicrous to me that you have to seek permission from someone who is on the verge of seeing Jesus but I guess the American Red Cross is too busy saving lives to waste time in People’s Court.)”
It’s just a distraction, I tell you.
So back to me.
This particular trainer and training facility came highly recommended by a friend, but he warned me that it would be very intense, but worth it, as I would see results rather quickly. I hate to admit it, but instant gratification has always been a good incentive for me and one of the reasons I think the Chia Pet is genius. Instant results.
However, I knew I was in trouble when I arrived for my first training session appropriately named “the torture chamber”. After participating in said chamber I am wholeheartedly convinced that this is the method used by the United States to retrieve valuable intelligence from pesky, Russian spies. Or at least the recipe to Paula Deen’s banana pudding.
I managed to survive the workout that included thousands of lunges, squats and push-ups, walking back to my car on shaky legs and opening the door with arms that resembled spaghetti. My whole body was bone weary, but I did feel satisfaction that I completed the session without collapsing or crying like a little girl. I felt tired, but somewhat confident, that in just a few weeks I could be a back-up exercise girl for the Billy Blank’s Tae Bo videos. (That SO cannot be his real name.)
The next morning quickly proved that I would not be that exercise girl in the infomercial, primarily because video production cannot happen in the horizontal position as I had difficulty getting out of bed because I was in SO MUCH PAIN.
My body is infuriated, rebelling at the way it was treated in the “chamber”. My gluteus maximus has been screaming insults at me for days and the muscles in my abdomen are angry that they have been found after months in hiding. I walk as though I’ve been riding on a horse in dire need of a session with the Horse Whisperer, grimacing with each step with a face that makes the Joker look handsome.
It has been very unpleasant.
I’ve since had a second training session and the soreness is joyfully a little better, but I am starting to question my membership in this group. Because I like walking like a normal person and sitting down in a chair without assistance in standing back up, I’m wondering if this is the exercise regime for me.
I’m thinking that geriatric gyms are more my speed.