Wednesday, February 27, 2013


Now that Oscar season is officially over, my life can get back to normal and I can start really kicking the personal training in to high gear. Disappointment abounds as I load up my gym bag (still using that trusty Target bag) and head to my car for my session with Justin. I have once again failed to work out at all during the weekend. And no excuse is good enough. I simply didn't do it.

My usual elliptical machine is taken so I have to use a different one. I'm kind of excited because it's the one that is more natural with the arm motions and therefore slightly easier to stay balanced on while I'm using it. Nicki Minaj even puts a little spring in my step as I crush a half mile in eight minutes. Not awesome, but progress.

Justin is finishing up with some lady so I go to put my phone away and meet him back in the cardio room, which we immediately leave to head to the weight room. And we start with leg presses. Justin must have picked up on the fact that it's much easier for me to have the distraction of conversation to get me through things because he prompts me to give him my opinion of the Oscar winners. I'm happy that Jennifer Lawrence won but my ballot was destroyed. I only got fourteen of the twenty four categories correct. That's miserable. 

During push ups we talk about the Best Picture nominees and which one I liked best (my top three were Argo, Beasts of the Southern Wild, and Silver Linings Playbook) and therefore which movies Justin should see. Clearly all of them, though Lincoln was PAINFULLY boring. I get a wonderful compliment when Justin says he needs to lower the bar because I'm getting stronger, which is alternately depressing because it reminds me that the difficulty should stay the same, even if you get better. You have to continue to make it harder otherwise you're not getting much out of it.

During squats we talk about proper squat form, which is a thing. And apparently it's a thing that I haven't really been doing right. I tend to have most of my weight forward, which is wrong. Your weight should be over your heals and your butt should be sticking way out. I have to say, it's much easier the way I used to do it, but I'll get stronger, I suppose.

Then I have to do side hovers and planks on some weird half-ball plate thing which makes me feel like I'm wicked clumsy and going to die even though I'm maybe two feet from the ground with my arms extended. It's incredibly unstable which makes me engage my core. I tell Justin all about the comedy shows that I watch on TV (there is the common theme of media in the topics) as I drip sweat everywhere and feel as though I am literally melting.

Trainers have it rough and I'll explain why. I don't know if I could stand to be around a person who is so ridiculously sweaty and therefore smelly. I can hardly stand it myself and I just do it for half an hour. Justin has who knows how many clients and presumably all of them get sweaty and, at times, smell horrible. That is true dedication and he and all trainers should be given special gifts for putting up with the rankness of others. So should group exercise teachers. By that logic so should I, because in group classes I'm subjected to the smells other people give off. So where's my gift?

At the conclusion of the workout, I pick treadmill for my cardio. Justin tells me I did a good job tonight, which feels amazing after I spent the weekend being incredibly lazy and eating snacky foods. Same thing as last time for cardio, only I feel more adventurous so I start off jogging for my 30-second intervals. That adventurousness quickly goes away and I slow it down to a walk for the rest of my time. This is probably because I have to keep the incline up even when I'm on my 'rest' minute, though it's only at 4 instead of 7. Ladies and gentlemen, the treadmill can be a difficult workout if you let it. It just needs your permission.

Friday, February 22, 2013


I may or may not have promised Justin that I would work out at 6:30 on Wednesday morning and I may or may not have actually gone to work out. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which is actually correct by telling you that I was given a harder workout for not showing up at 6:30 like I told him I would. I agreed to it because I wasn't going to have time to go later that day with work, and I really did intend to go but I was really tired and so I slept. And exercise is one of those situations where it's not the thought that counts. If that were the case, we would all be skinny and muscular.

Justin comes over to me just shy of the ten minute mark of my warm up and practically threatens me by telling me he's gonna make me work hard after I skipped out on exercise yesterday. And that makes me scared. Thank goodness we head into the weight room because there is no way he would make me do ropes in the weight room. It's a real possibility that there would be an actual accidental death if anyone were to do the ropes.

Instead we go to the seated leg press machine. Great, we're starting with a machine that intimidates me. I guess I should be happy because I'll learn how to use it and it won't scare the crap out of me. Gotta find the positive in everything or you will go crazy. Life lessons, by Sam. Now this is an inclined or declined leg press, not the standard straight-on leg presses. I'm practically sitting on the floor and my legs are inclined almost forty-five degrees away from me. Justin has me start with forty reps on each leg with no added weight. They get to be quite strenuous by the end.

In between sets of leg presses I do my push ups. I'll say, I'm noticing improvements. I still can't do a full on push up, but I can get through my set of fifteen without having to pause. I ask Justin about any adjustments I can make when I'm doing them at home (because I don't have an adjustable bar at home) and he says that I should just come to the gym and do them. Fair point. It is only three minutes from my house.

For my last of three sets of leg presses, Justin makes me up the reps to fifty per leg instead of forty. By the end my legs are on fire. And my butt, too. One final set of push ups and onward we press to the cardio room, where I apparently am going to do the rowing machine. The rowing machine is another machine that absolutely terrifies me. Today is apparently a day of pushing me outside of my comfort zone. We'll see how I feel about it after my workout is complete.

Now, for those of you who have never used a rowing machine before, it looks fairly easy. After my introductory lesson about how to secure myself into the machine I realize that it isn't really that complicated of a machine. This is not to say that the exercise itself is easy. It's not. I have to keep my speed up and keep track of the number of calories I have burned before I can stop with the rowing. Apparently I start off a little too energetically because I literally bounce the machine due to the force with which I propel myself backwards. That's all I need, to have to replace a rowing machine that I break.

Thankfully it doesn't break. But I remain a little wary for the rest of my time on the machine (which, in case you were wondering is however long it takes to burn 10 calories as fast as I can). That is alternated with fifteen reps of dumbbell presses. And I can't turn either of those experiences into anything witty or fun, so just create a scenario in which there's a bear in the cardio room while I do these things. I'm sure it will be fascinating and full of adventure.

Interestingly enough, there was no bear at the gym, but there was a pair of crocs. Yes, crocs. Someone chose to wear crocs because apparently they are acceptable workout footwear. No. No they are not. So don't every be tempted. The only place crocs are acceptable is at the bottom of a trash barrel.

After my rowing and my pressing, I have twenty minutes of cardio that I have to do. Justin gives me the choice between cross trainer and treadmill and so I pick treadmill, because practically all I do is the elliptical nowadays. Remember how I said it was a day of living outside my comfort zone? True to that declaration, I have to mess with the incline of my treadmill. To increase the incline to stare fear in the face and say "please let me live." Can the thing even incline while I'm on it? I DON"T KNOW! I've never tried it before!

I liken this treadmill experience to playing Russian roulette. My workout consists of a minute of comfortable pace on level ground with thirty seconds of increased speed and incline so that I really have to work. Every time I hit that incline button and that speed up button it's like pulling the trigger of a gun. Will I die or will I live? Only destiny knows the answer. Clearly the answer is I live. I even get so bold that for my last thirty seconds of pushing, I jog.I never thought I would be jogging on a tread mill but here I am doing it with Ke$ha cheering me on all the way. It's exhilarating and I've never felt more alive. 

I've also never felt more like I want to die. My body is sore and tired and all I want to do is curl up and go to bed. But first I must go up those awful stairs, get my protein shake and then go home. Best friend Rachel stops by with cookies because she's apparently determined to ruin any semblance of a healthy diet I had for today. Oh well. Occasionally you have to treat yourself. There's another wise saying for today. And yes, I totally did borrow from Parks and Recreation. Deal with it.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


Day three of personal training has arrived! After a mild failure of a weekend in which I did hardly any exercising on days other than Saturday, I'm a tad apprehensive about the session tonight. But first thing's first: elliptical time. I've come to enjoy my time on the elliptical for many a reason. One: because it's not very long, and two: because I can actually do it without pre-dialing 9-1-1 just in case. The ellipticals are kind of crowded tonight and I am lucky enough to be next to a very smiley woman who's plugging away on her own machine and she amuses me enough to keep me on track, too.

Workout conclusion: consistency is key?

After the elliptical I quickly drop off my phone and trudge back to the cardio room. With my head hanging low I shamefully admit my lack of exercise to Justin because I was under the impression that I was supposed to work out twice before this session. Allegedly that is not the case. He apparently knew that I wouldn't exercise before now. I can't tell if I should feel relieved or offended. I really want this to work and despite all of my progress I still allow my laziness to get the better of me, on occasion.

Here's the other thing I really appreciate about the whole personal training thing. There's is another person involved who can help keep me accountable. Do you want to know another thing Justin is really good at? Making me feel bad. And I mean that in the best possible way. In a way that makes me realize that the only person I'm screwing over when I'm lazy is myself. That is a tough pill to swallow. And it would be easier with cake but dammit I'm trying to give up sweets.

We start with fifteen standing chest presses as I fill him in on the movies I saw this weekend (which were all great, by the way). Talking proves to be a great distraction from the pain of exercise, in case you were curious. A fact that becomes incredibly apparent when I do my minute wall sits. Holy quads. They burn like the fire of a thousand suns. And I have to do four sets of them in between my chest presses. But I wanted this. In fact I'm paying for it.

Onward we press to the weight room where I do push ups and squats. It's during the push ups that I discover the truth in what Justin continues to tell me about doing them. It's easier if you just keep going. Stopping in between push ups to rest does absolutely no good, believe it or not. We do four sets of each, to mix things up, and this is something I wish I had learned before my last set when I was given the ultimatum of not being allowed to stop during the set. To maintain what little dignity remains at this point, I do feel the need to let Justin know that I really do want this to work and that I'm not stopping just for the heck of it. It honestly sometimes feels like I can't do anymore.

I realize this may sound mildly pathetic to some of you who do this type of stuff as a warm up to a real workout, but keep your stupid opinions to yourselves. If this is where I have to start, so be it. My goals may be lofty but it would be foolish to assume I could achieve them without starting way below them and working upwards. If it worked instantly, so one would be fat and everyone would be rich. Hard work is what pays off. Feel free to print that on a t-shirt if you ever need motivation.

To end the day, I have to do a standing twist of some sort, which is where I really start to feel the piece of cake I had earlier at a 'last day' party for a woman who works in my office. And this is why I shouldn't eat cake anymore. Working out with cake in my belly makes me ill, apparently. All in all it's a positive experience, though I am still mighty embarrassed by the designs my sweat makes on my t-shirts because of where I start to sweat first. But what to me is disgusting may serve as inspiration for a great artist who happens to work out at my gym and who knows, maybe my sweat will be hanging on the wall of an art museum. How's that for optimism?

Tuesday, February 19, 2013


My alarm goes off at 6:30 and I hate myself for scheduling this personal training session for 7:30 in the morning on a Saturday. I'm a person who enjoys the few chances I get to sleep in and to have to wake up early is bad enough, but I'm doing this to go exercise. Granted, I am much less annoyed than I would have been 5 months ago, but still, this is not an ideal Saturday morning. So I hit 'snooze' once. But then I really do force myself out of bed and down from the loft to get ready.

You know what sucks? When you wake up tired but you have to get ready because you are under a time crunch but then you take far less time than you thought to get ready and you have fifteen minutes to waste that could have been spent under the covers getting more sleep. So I hear, anyways. But I will sacrifice if it means going to the Best Picture Showcase. Check it out if you have no idea what I'm talking about, but basically I will be seeing all the best picture nominees before the Oscars on the 24th. This is my march madness.

When I arrive at the gym, I pick up my special form that shows my insurance provider that I have been an active member long enough to get my rebate and then head down the stairs to change. I have been unbelievably sore since Thursday and I still have some residual ache in my thighs when I use the stairs. Work through it though, right? It does cause my elliptical time to be slightly more difficult than usual, but after seven and a half minutes, I still feel pretty groovy, despite my fear that my crack is hanging out for all the world to see (a not so positive side effect of a shrinking waistline).

Justin meets me downstairs and we head to the weight room to start the workout. I have to tell you that the thing I appreciate the most about this personal training endeavor is learning how to use some equipment. Gone are the days of wondering around pretending like I know what I'm doing. I actually do know what I'm doing, now. Or at least I'm learning. I start with some cable rows on this giant apparatus that must have at least twelve different components for a combined total of 33,000 different exercises. So I do the rows with minute hovers (like planking, only on my forearms instead of my hands) in between sets.

Then we move on to an exercise in the cardio room that I can't begin to name, so I'll describe it. It's on the same machine that I would do the tricep exercise on, and in fact uses the same rope attachment. I face the machine and have my arms outstretched in front of me, gripping the rope. I then pull my fists back to my cheeks, making a point to squeeze my shoulder blades together. Fifteen reps and then fifteen wall squats (against an exercise ball, which seems terrifyingly unstable) three times. In an attempt to show Justin that sometimes I do have legitimate questions and I'm not always stalling to avoid doing work, I ask a question while I do squats. Mainly I'm curious if squatting with the ball works muscles in a different way. Apparently it's all about training myself to have good form when I do regular squats. 

Then we head back into the cardio room and I do some weird pull down thing while seated. I only say 'weird' because I don't know the actual name of the exercise. But I have seen people do it before. I don't know if this makes me qualified to be talking about it or if it's simply something I have literally observed before, so make your own decision about that. This is interspersed with side planks which, as we all know, I hate. I feel obligated to tell Justin that I really am a generally cheerful person and that I'm not always such a complainer (who am I kidding, I complain constantly).

Once the workout is over I shower and change because I have to leave right from the gym to go to Boston. And I grab a meal replacement shake on the way, because I like them. And, on Sunday, I buy myself some weights because I want to be able to do some stuff at home in case I can't get to the gym for some unknown reason. Guys, my whole attitude has changed. 

Wednesday, February 13, 2013


Completely and utterly unrelated to fitness even in the slightest, my windshield was replaced today. I just had to share because it's so much less stressful to drive with a windshield that isn't cracked. Plus it was replaced while I was at work. Safelite is the best.

Today is the day. The day where I get wicked candid and tell you my current weight. On the internet. For all to see. And I thought a cracked windshield was a source of stress. Believe it or not there's a big difference between admitting you're a fat person and telling people how fat you actually are. I remember in elementary school the fifth and sixth graders would go on a ski trip to Trollhaugen in Wisconsin and in preparation we would all get weighed during gym class not in private. It was always my least favorite day cause everyone was telling everyone else what they weighed and I was always wicked embarrassed (goodness I've used 'wicked' twice in one paragraph. Thanks, Massachusetts!).

Well today I will not be embarrassed. Not because I'm happy with the number out of context, but because in the grand scheme of what I'm attempting to accomplish, progress has been made. But you'll have to wait just a little longer until those numbers are officially released because I'm not taking events out of sequence.

I get to the gym tonight and feel slightly nervous because I know I'll have to step on a scale. The worst thing that could possibly happen is that I've put on weight since my physical where I learned that I've lost a total of 26 pounds. But I can't think about that because I have to get on the elliptical machine and get warmed up. Maybe I can work off some extra poundage in this five minutes that ends up morphing into ten because I make the best workout mixes ever.

After my elliptical time I head upstairs to grab a towel and see if that's where Justin is waiting. Indeed it is and we head down a hallway to start the process of my measurements. We have to create a profile with some personal information before the moment arrives. We head to the scale. Thankfully Justin is really good at making things seem less intense and I tend to be a little more on the dramatic side (but it really is just a defense mechanism).

Before I reveal my current weight, let me tell you where I started. At my very first physical with my new doctor (sometime this past summer, I think in June) I stepped on the scale and weighed 411 pounds. It was really scary to me to be over the 400 mark, especially at 25. At my most recent physical on January 14, my weight was 386. Today, my weight is 377. I've lost nine pounds in four weeks. Two and a quarter pounds a week average. An average of seven pounds a month since I started in September. I am insanely proud of those statistics. Other boring measurements are taken to track my progress and since I don't have the exact figures, I'll omit them.

After measurements, Justin and I head down to the weight room where he shows me some actual exercise to do with weights. I think he calls them dumbbell presses but I can't really be sure. I'm really good at pretending to pay attention when I'm actually not paying attention. That's what I learned as an actor in college. So we alternate 15 presses and one minute planks three times. And after that I'm dripping sweat. Gross. But it is indicative of exertion, so it's proof that I'm trying me best. I'll attempt to view sweat as a positive thing.

We move on to the cardio room to do an exercise that features squats. As I often say, squats are one of my least favorite things. Combine it with presses and it becomes really awful. Squat down, do a press on the way up. Fifteen of those then side planks for a minute on each side. We do that twice. Maybe three times. I was kind of delirious so I don't really remember.

Then we go over to the leg press machine. Justin tells me that these are really great and I say something along the lines of, 'But will my body be happy with me?' Some lady pipes up 'No! They're awful." Zip it lady. I'm paying to be trained, not for you to be friendly. Fifteen presses on each leg three times, and then my workout is over. We go back upstairs to schedule our next session and I renew my hatred for whomever put stairs in the gym that I MUST go up. 

Once the appointment is scheduled I go downstairs and change into my swim suit (HA! You thought I was done but I tricked you) and head to the pool. Crap there's an aqua aerobics class going on. That means the water is choppy and I may drown. I'll deal. The problem is, I know I'm swimming in pee. You don't get that many people in a pool for an hour without at least one person peeing. I don't care if they're all adults who should know better. Which makes it even worse when the unthinkable happens and I accidentally swallow some pee-water. Time to be done with my swim.

I head back to the locker room to change and I'm 98% sure I hit some poor guy in the face with my sweaty shirt. The problem is I wait well beyond the point in time where it would be acceptable to say something so I don't say anything and he probably thinks I'm some stupid jerk. So if perchance you are reading this, dude in the locker room, know that I had a hard time sleeping because I felt so guilty about maybe smacking with you my shirt. Please forgive me.

Friday, February 8, 2013


For those of you who aren't friends with me on Facebook (am I not good enough for you?) may be unaware of an addition to this whole "Fat Person at the Gym" thing. Yesterday I started a twitter account that will be directly linked to the blog. The twitter account will have short little 140 character updates to my journey that are not significant enough to be stretched into an entire blog post. But worry not, they will be hilarious. Check it out if you have twitter and follow and retweet everything I ever do. @fatpersonthegym is the username.

I have been looking forward to my first actual paid personal training session all week and tonight my feelings have morphed into nerves. Why on earth am I nervous? Because I suddenly start to think that this might be really hard. I have some experience because I did get a free hour long session when I first joined the gym, but that was way back in September and I now worry that Justin is going to decide that I should be able to do a lot more.

First of all, that's a stupid thing to worry about. Why on earth would someone who is trained to help me get in the habit of working out give me things that are impossible for me to do. That would be the worst business decision someone could ever make. The problem is that the butterflies in my stomach don't know that they shouldn't be worried about things.

I'm supposed to arrive early enough to do between five and ten minutes on the elliptical machine as a warm up to the half hour that Justin has in store for me. Naturally I decide that means I should do twenty minutes. I want results so I'll give a little more. Plus, Best Friend Rachel is on an elliptical when I arrive so I'll use the extra time to chat.

As I'm telling Rachel about life and that I'm going to be starting my training tonight (believe it or not, she doesn't religiously follow my blog) I start to realize that there is probably a reason Justin told me to only do five or ten minutes on the elliptical. It's probably not because he doesn't want me to get great results; it's probably because he doesn't want my legs to be super tired before he has me punish them with squats and lunges and presses and whatever else you do when you workout your legs. So I stop at fifteen minutes.

Rachel and I take what feels like a final walk. I swear someone yells, "Dead man walking!" Justin is patiently waiting outside the training room with this awful smirk like he knows I'm about to hate my decision. The first thing he has me do is the squat sidesteps with the elastic band around my ankles back and forth twice. My buns are sufficiently burning by the end of those. That was a great workout. I'm ready to go.

No such luck. That took all of three of my thirty minutes. So then we start on circuits. I do 15 pushups, 20 jumping jacks, and 15 squats for three sets. Believe me, it sounds more impressive than it is. That's because I pause to ask whether or not I'm doing things properly and because I'm tired. The problem is I foolishly told Justin way back when that I would be prone to attempting to stall by looking like I was trying to make sure I was doing things right. So he just yells at me (in really a very kind and nurturing way) to stop stalling and not to stop again or he'll have me do more of them.

Water break and back to a new circuit with the rope that I hate SO much. It reminds me of when I was moderately interested in creating a wave in my sister's jump rope. You flick one end and watch it travel down the entire length of the rope. Really amusing for maybe ten seconds. Now imagine it with a thick rope, one in both hands, and you have to do it for over a minute. Maybe even two. I honestly can't remember how long I had to do it each time because I was so unhappy. This was coupled with slamming a giant ball down on the ground while doing a squat.

Thank goodness for another water break because my arms are sore and tired. We then go into the cardio room to do my final exercise of the evening. The best way I can describe this machine (or rather what it makes you do) is a seated jog. Resistance is involved and I'm supposed to go as hard and fast as I can for twenty seconds, then ten seconds slow and repeat it eight times. According to Justin, this is one of the most effective ways to burn fat. Bring it on. These boobs and this belly will be gone. 

Let me be blunt (would you expect anything less?): The whole time I was doing the half hour I was miserable. I was mad at myself for deciding to do the training and my arms hurt and my legs hurt and my abdomen hurt and occasionally I was nauseous. But I would continually subject myself to this half hour of torture because of how I feel afterwards. I feel amazing and I know that I just did something that was really great for me. A half hour of pain leads to days of feeling good about myself and that's amazing.

It's going to take me a while to get to a point where I enjoy the process as much as the product, but I know I'll get there. I just have to suck it up and stop whining like an idiot. That's why exercise has failed for me before. I gave up when it was hard. It's supposed to be hard otherwise it's not working. 

After my workout is done, we schedule our next few sessions. Measurements are happening on Tuesday and I'll be posting each and every one. So I'm going to spend the weakened psyching myself up because to post my actual weight is slightly terrifying. Also, I'll be taking my before pictures. Try not to spend days staring at my gorgeous body.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013


After a weekend of not going to the gym (but I did go dancing) I am excited to go to the gym tonight. So excited, in fact, that I don't even wait until my usual 8:00. Instead I go at 7:00 filled with this bizarre motivation that has become increasingly more common. I'm sans any gym buddies tonight, which I consider both a positive and a negative. No one is there to distract me from my tiredness, but I also don't have to worry about maintaining a conversation instead of listening to my music. Music is pretty awesome.

It's also colder than cold tonight, so I'm happy to have the promise of an 85 degree pool waiting for me. But before the pool, I must do cardio. I'm tempted to try the treadmill and see if I'm able to do any jogging whatsoever, but I chicken out when I see that there are three other people on the treadmill who are better than me. I'm easily intimidated when it comes to cardio endurance.

I settle on an elliptical machine, slightly disappointed that my choices are so repetitive now. Shouldn't I be mixing it up for the sake of not getting my body into a habit? Oh well, I'll save that for another day. Right now the only thing between me and a tropical dip is twelve minutes on this baby. I am ready to punish myself for my slightly lazy weekend and I'm going to do it with the help of Ke$ha.

Slight shift while I talk about results: I have proof that my endurance has improved. I used to have to immediately drop resistance on the elliptical down to level 10 because my heart rate would rise too fast. Now I can leave it on the standard fifteen and even push myself with a very steady climb in heart rate and I can maintain a healthy level. This is awesome, in my opinion. 

After my twelve minutes are up, I full on surprise myself. I decide to go for half an hour. Will I be content with not striving to do my best?! Hell to the no! I almost immediately regret my decision. I realize I'm getting tired and I would really like to stop. But that's the old, lazy me talking. Shut up, whiny lazy Sam. You aren't welcome here anymore.

As I tend to do when I'm on the elliptical, I glance around at the other individuals who are also on a quest for physical fitness. Some people are riding stationary bikes, a very intense looking gentleman is rowing like his life depends on it, and some silly woman is watching the Food Network while she jogs. And not just any show. She's watching Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, a show that basically features only unhealthy foods. This is foolish and let me tell you why. The whole time she's working out she's going to be thinking about food she shouldn't eat. When she goes home, she's going to be craving a burger with five strips of bacon and two kinds of cheese and you know what? She's going to have it because she'll feel like she earned it after working out. At least that's what I would do. That's why I can't watch the Food Network while at the gym and I can't go on Pinterest at work. Too many delicious looking things.

Over a mile and 20 minutes (30 minutes and 1.52 miles, in actuality) later and I step off the treadmill feeling like what I imagine Gumby felt like constantly. My legs are made of jello. But man, I feel good. Ladies and gentlemen, exercise is therapy. This is what I have discovered and I am sharing this information with you free of charge. 

Like a giddy child, I lumber with purpose back to the locker room to change into my swim suit. For some reason, this 'motivation' thing follows me to the pool, and I am not content to swim like an old person (slow and leisurely (sorry to any elderly readers)) and I try to push myself. I don't take small breaks at the end of each length, and I don't slow down after my first full lap.

When you feel as strongly about making a change in your life as I do, you aren't supposed to go about it halfheartedly. I really did make a decision to change my life and not pushing myself wouldn't be fair to me. That's why I've made the decision to get some personal training sessions. Fitness is an investment in my future and I need to know what I'm doing if I'm going to be as successful as I can be.