And by leap, I mean squat. Yes, I did it again. I signed up for a personal trainer. Here's the thing... I swear I didn't mean to. It was Monday morning, I was minding my own business running at a nice relaxing 6.0 pace on the treadmill when this friendly, big, black trainer asks if I want to do a quick 5 minute bootcamp with him. Obviously I am unable to turn down a good work out, so I say yes.
Three sets of squats, lunges, jump ups and bicycles on my back and I feel slightly nauseus. (side note: I've never puked from working out and I'm sure as hell not going to let my first time be after a 5 minute work out. What am I? A pussy? Don't answer that)
Post feelings of wanting to upchuck my breakfast, I sit down with "G". Ok, so his real name is Gilbert, but he was the one calling himself "G"- black men can apparently do this. I asked what I thought was a very viable question: are you also an "OG"?
G: No.
I shrug my shoulders... Say, oh and think to myself this is completely lame because if you're gonna be a gangsta you should at least be an original gangsta... I mean, right?
"G" then pulls out a large scary paper that will establish my fitness goals. Question 1: how much do you weigh? Question 2: what is your ideal weight? And on it goes. I dutifully complete the entire form and hand it back to "G". He grimaces when he gets to the last question: how motivated are you about achieving your goals on a scale of one to ten (ten being very motivated). -- I had very confidently and very pleased with myself circled the six. I would have gone for the 5- but i figured in true Jillian form that I would give him something to work with.
G looks at me. Why isn't this a ten, his voice echoes in my ear and I'm reminded of a recruiter that once asked me why I had a 3.3 gpa in college and not a 4.0 (ummm because I had a life?- no that was not the answer I really gave, but come on!- Surprise, surprise I didn't get that job lol). Anyways, so there it is that inevitable question hanging in the air. And then I just say what I was thinking. I say the truth: I'm happy with the way I look.
Now, it takes a very good trainer to recover from a blow like that. So, he does the only thing he can do. He pulls out the... Dun dun dun- body fat percent calculating contraption. I groan- yes, both figuratively and literally. Even when I was doing interval training and running 30 miles a week I had 20% body fat. I did not want to think about what it was now that I had said "fuck salads" and actually started eating what I wanted.
It was 27- gahhhhhhhhhh! Apparently this is very poor for someone my age and I am going to die- well, someday. My heart sinks. I stare down at my thighs and give an obligatory its been nice knowing you pat to my ass. The fun food and booze run is over (go ahead mom breathe a sigh of relief).
I look "G" square in the face. Ok, let's do it.
And that is the story of how I decided to sign away $160 of my hard earned dollars a month.
Mannnnnnnnnnnnnn.
Xoxo J.
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