Vomit...

Today is a rough day. Stuff just goes wrong. I don't realize I hit someone and the next thing I know, he's honking and motioning for me to pull over and telling the police I was fleeing the scene of an accident. That would be false. I didn't think there was an accident for me to flee from. Nonetheless, I get a citation for fleeing the scene and now have to appear in court. Honestly, this is stupid. If I had known I hit him, I would have stopped. And it's basically over a transfer of paint. No body damage whatsoever. I hate everything. So here's a picture of me with cake.

Aren't my coworkers the best?

I hope that this rage will filter in to my workout, tonight. I have my second session with Justin. I get to the gym around quarter of seven and change and head to that god-forsaken elliptical. Honestly, I feel like setting things on fire. But all that burns is my thighs because I suck it up and use the machine. I do it for 12 and a half minutes, two and a half over my requirement because I'm such an overachiever. Then Justin comes and finds me and we start the evenings workout.

We walk to the training room and I do the squat side-shuffle (sounds like a dance move, huh?) as a warm up. Then he takes me to the end of these long ropes. I've seen this before... I'm going to die. Basically, I'm supposed to raise and lower the ends of the ropes rapidly, so as to create a wave that travels down the length of the ropes. Justin tells me I'm going to do a set of 20, 30, and finally 40. In between these sets, I'm supposed to do a minute of squats. Kill me now.

I've tried to develop an attitude of conquering what is in front of me and not thinking about the long term, but I am ready to simply crumble into a heap of laziness at the thought of what the next 5ish minutes will hold. But I plug through, only because I have Justin telling me I'm not allowed to stop. When I finish, I think to myself, 'Wow, great workout. Good thing I'm done.' No such luck. I now have to do more squats.

Squats are my least favorite thing ever. But I told him I wanted to work on my butt, so I guess I have to do them. And boy are they painful. Then we go down the hall to the cardio room, where they also have a couple of trapeze machines. At least that's what they make me think of. Who knows what they're actually called.

I then have to do some arm thing that I can only describe as a chest clap. Like a clap in front of me with my arms stretched out, pulling on the weights as I bring my hands together. Like flying from a vertical position, if you will. Right about here, I feel like I may puke. I know someone who says it's awesome if you vomit during a workout because it means you're really pushing yourself. I am not of that opinion, right now. The last thing I want to do is puke. I am really regretting my decision to stress-eat greasy food for lunch.

I finish the flapping and do some planking, which is also really hard. I thought I knew how to do these things, but I find that I've been engaging all the wrong muscle groups and now have to re-learn how to do it correctly. Which leads to crazy sweating and fatigued arms. I can't help but feel whiny as I'm explaining this to Justin, because I'm sure it comes across as my stalling, which he totally calls me out for. Yes, occasionally I stall, but sometimes I honestly want to make sure I'm feeling it in the right place.

After the workout, he's very encouraging and wants me to think about continuing with the personal training, which I am absolutely in favor of doing. It's really helpful to have someone so closely involved to hold me accountable. 

Patience...

So I freak out most of the day because I have my very first personal training session at the Beverly Athletic Club. Oops. I mean my anonymous gym. I am hella nervous (And no, I'm not ashamed that I used 'hella' in this post because I do what I want). The hours seem to drag as 7:00 approaches. I come home from work to a wonderful surprise. In an incredible act of kindness, I receive an early birthday present from a great friend. She has bought me my very own yoga mat. And she bought me an extra long one because I'm so tall. I can't wait to use it at Pilates on Saturday. I'm going to be the coolest person there. So let me say again, Thank You KP!

After that pleasant distraction, I clean some more because I'm incredibly antsy and I have nothing else to do. After what seems like days of waiting, I check the clock. It's only 5:45 and I have to wait another hour before I leave. Patience has never been a gift of mine, and today I am painfully aware of how not patient I am. I constantly pace through the house and fidget and squirm. Does that count as physical exertion?

I head over to the gym around 6:50 to meet my trainer at 7:00. I come in and none other than CJ is in the office. He cheerfully greets me and we have a brief conversation about my life. He is incredibly encouraging and kind and I start to feel guilty about judging him when I started at the gym. Plus, he makes reference to my blog so I'm pretty sure he's read it and I am thoroughly embarrassed. So CJ, if you're reading this, hopefully you've picked up on my sarcastic sense of humor and no that I tend to over-exaggerate. If not, I don't really know what to tell you.

I quickly change and come back upstairs to meet Justin, my trainer. I expected to have a trainer that was in good physical shape, but it's still my instant gut reaction to compare myself and feel inferior. We sit down and chat about what my goals are and I tell him the three main areas I want to work on are the Boobs, Belly, and Butt. The three B's, if you will. And you will, because I wrote them.

We talk for about half an hour and then he says we're going to go downstairs and he's going to kick my butt. Verbatim. Kill me now. We head to the cardio room first and where would he have me start but on the elliptical machine. I kind of hate you already, Justin. But at least he only makes me do five minutes and did I really think he wouldn't push me more than I would push myself? No. 

Then we go to the training room and he has me do push-ups, and side step with a band around my ankles. I can't do a real push-up to save my life, so he has me do standing push-ups, which are apparently also something I'm not incredibly good at. I alternate between those and the side steps, which are surprisingly difficult and my legs and butt really feel the burn after traveling maybe 10 yards.

After that, I get to take out my frustration by chucking a 20 pound exercise ball at the ground a total of 40 times. I'm convinced Justin miscounts at one point and I probably end up doing more like 43. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Then, I lay on my back on the floor and bridge it up to end the session. Surprisingly, I don't want to punch him in the face, but that may be because I barely have the strength to raise my arms above my waist. 

For those of you who don't know, this is 'bridge'. Minus those awful jeans.

Because we talked for the first half hour, he graciously offers to do another free half hour session next week, where he can kick my butt all over again. Why would I say no? This is what I signed up for. So I have another session to look forward to, next week. On my way home, I could cry because I have to strain to turn my steering wheel. Thanks a lot, Justin.

iPod...

Today I go to the gym a little later than I intend because there is another important lesson I have learned: It is incredibly important to have a comfortable pair of shoes when I'm at the gym. I've been squeezing into a pair of Adidas running shoes that I've had since my junior year of high school and they've given me wonderful insight into the practice of binding feet. I decide it's time to get some new shoes. So I drive down to Nordstrom Rack, which seems to be the only place that sells shoes the size of most clown cars, and pick out literally one of the most comfortable pair of shoes I have ever worn. Those of you who are interested, they are the Asics Nimbus 13.

Then, I go over to Target and re-purchase my hot pink head phones, because I need them.

Upon entering the gym, I take my gym bag down to the locker room. That's right, ladies and gentleman, I finally got a gym bag. True, my gym bag is a reusable Target bag that I purchased about 4 years ago, but it's my pride and joy so keep it to yourself. The gym is a little more crowded, today, so I decide to head to one of the available treadmills. Now, as a fat person, I hate being right next to someone while I'm on any piece of equipment and today I have a person on either side of me. 

Because they are so close, I can clearly see the speed with which they're running and how long they have been on the treadmill. I'm planning on walking because I'm convinced I will not survive an attempt to jog on a treadmill, and I'm only planning on doing it for 25 minutes. The woman to my left has been on for 30 minutes, and she shows no signs of stopping. And yes, women can do anything men can do, but it's incredibly de-masculinating to be beaten by a woman in feats of physical strength and endurance unless she's a body builder.  

I make it through the treadmill and then do legs. As usual, I look incredibly non-graceful as I straddle the hip whatever thing. This time, I have to raise my leg to get it over one of the arms and I end up looking like a figure skater who is failing and almost fall out of the seat. Thank goodness there is a personal trainer working with a client not 4 feet from me and they both see the whole thing. 

Then, I decide to work on whatever the backside of my thigh is called. This exercise is incredibly embarrassing because it involves laying down on my stomach. So while I sweat and struggle, it looks like I'm taking a nap. And who knows, my butt could be hanging out while I am blissfully unaware. But not really blissfully. More like painfully. Thank goodness that's the last thing I have to do before I leave, but not before responding to a woman who says goodbye to someone other than me.