Crack...

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. 

Pride...

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.

Fitness...

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.

Drive...

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. 

Elephant...

Consider yourselves lucky as I've been really inspired to post recently. Hopefully that means a brief respite from monotony as you read my incredibly witty and inspiring posts. Speaking of feeling inspired, I'm so inspired after work that I go to the gym a full 45 minutes before Dynamic Core starts. I stop and say hi to Taylor and complain about all the new staff members they have at the gym and how I don't like it. I don't want to spend time to get to know these new people, which sounds awful, I know, but it's true.

With my extra time I decide to do cardio. Dynamic Core is practically exclusively muscle training so this really should be a habit, but often times I feel lazy after work. I opt for the same elliptical that I used yesterday when I kicked butt. I hop on and start doing that thing. After a minute and I half I start to notice this we're squeaking and clicking noise over the sound of my jams. I take out my headphones to find the source of this annoying sound.

Lo and behold, it's coming from my elliptical machine. And then I start to second guess the stability of the machine and I begin to think that I may die if I remain on this machine. So I get off and swap to a different one, which is much better. During my time on the machine, I see Christine and through my powers of persuasion, convince her to come to Dynamic Core with Best Friend Rachel and me.

After my twenty minutes on the elliptical (yes, you read that right, twenty whole minutes!) we head upstairs and prepare for the death that is Dynamic Core. I don't think Best Friend Rachel and I do a good job of encouraging Christine because all we keep saying is that it's really hard and there are a lot of squats and push ups. I wouldn't want to try it after that recommendation. I at least occasionally interject a "But you'll have fun" so I have to get some credit for kind of trying.

It's a busy night, with all the older women determined to be first into the room. Honestly ladies, let's settle down. It's boring for me to explain each and every thing we do, so just imagine a lot of work with weights and the aforementioned push ups and squats. Oh, and Kiki throws this gem at us. We all are instructed to get an exercise ball (ranging from 2-6 lbs) and to stand next to the bar if we think we'll need it. And then we are instructed to stand (yes, stand) on the exercise ball. A ball. A round thing that we have to keep balanced or literal concussions may happen. 

Honestly I felt like a circus elephant, only not supporting other elephants

So, we're in this precarious position and we have to additional squats. I actually do surprise myself with my ability to balance pretty well, but I'm convinced it's because I've practically flattened the ball. I am still a fat person, keep in mind. Other members of the class are much more impressive with their balancing.

Thankfully no concussions happen and class ends with everyone feeling incredibly successful. As Kiki encourages us to say, we are all fabulous. And it's hard not to feel that way when I was just BALANCING ON A FRIGGIN BALL.