by Mari McKee
Experiences of a new membership to a gym with a personal trainer
|The Personal Trainer
I finally bit the bullet and joined a gym. I walked 3 miles a day, but I needed to step it up a notch. The gym membership set me back several hundreds of dollars. To help motivate me, I also paid for a personal trainer for three times a week (more money). Then I had to buy real workout clothes and shoes (ca-chink, ca-chink). I considered this a good investment for a life-style change.
My first day, I carefully applied make-up and put my hair in a cute ponytail. The parking lot was crowded so I had to park in the very back. I walked briskly into the gym, excited about meeting my trainer. I acted like the village idiot when one of the most beautiful of men walked up to me and introduced himself as my personal trainer. I managed to stutter something to the effect that I was so happy to meet him. Eye candy in tight shorts and a wife-beater t-shirt, he walked me around the gym, showing me aerobic exercise equipment and aerobic free weights and machines.
“Let’s warm up with the hand weights,” he said.
As he demonstrated with ten-pound weights, I could see his biceps and triceps actually curl up in waves screaming, “Feel me! Feel me!” My hands were twitching from wanting to feel them. He handed me the weights which I took as if I was an astronaut in space where everything is weightless. My arms immediately dropped almost to my knees. He smiled at me with perfect whiter than white teeth. I returned his smile with my lips closed because my teeth were not nearly as white as his. He had me lifting several different ways with repetitions. Ten minutes later I was sweating as if I had just completed a triathlon. My mascara was running into my eyes, nearly blinding me. He silently handed me someone’s dirty gym towel, as I had not thought to purchase one.
He then dropped to the floor and began doing sit-ups. I was mesmerized at his oblique muscles making a perfect “six-pack”. Now it was my turn. I lifted my head with a grunt, and nothing else happened. He put one hand on my abdomen and his other hand under my back and helped me do a sit-up. I saw fireworks as I nearly swooned from this gorgeous man’s touch.Then he held my feet down and I felt like Cinderella with her prince putting on her glass slipper.
He led me to the treadmill, which helped restore my confidence, because I enjoyed my daily walks around my neighborhood. Within five minutes, he smiled at me as he adjusted the incline and speed. I felt like I was running up a mountain. I must have been turning blue, from lack of oxygen, because he kept telling me to breathe. When he turned off the treadmill, I tried to step off of it and fell flat on my face, because the floor looked like it was moving. He gallantly helped me off the floor as I sighed in appreciation.
Before long, our hour was up and it was time to go home. He walked me to the door, telling me what we would do during my next appointment in two days. It fell upon deaf ears, as I imagined his asking me to a candlelight dinner.
I floated home in a lustful daydream. I was proud of myself for making it through our first session unscathed. I was fine until the next morning when I tried to get dressed. I could not put on my bra because my arms would not bend without excrutiating pain. I had to walk downstairs sideways one step at a time. By that night, I had to lean against a wall to stand upright.
After the next session with the trainer, I crawled out of my car into my house and voice dialed a chiropractor because I couldn’t lift the phone to my ear. I ate anti-inflammatory medication like they were chocolate covered peanuts. I didn’t think my trainer was handsome at all anymore. He was cute but certainly not the Greek god I thought when I first met him.
After adjusting my spine, as I groaned and moaned, the chiropractor suggested that I go about my gym training more slowly, and then charged me fifty bucks for that little gem of information.
For my third session with my trainer, I parked in the front of the gym in a disabled parking spot. I now considered myself disabled and only one step away from a wheelchair. I entered the gym like a crab facing a pot of boiling water. I had not showered and looked like hell. With a now keen eye, I stared at my personal trainer and decided he had hair implants, fake teeth and man boobs. His voice was raspy and harsh, probably from all the dope he smoked. How in the world had I ever thought he was so gorgeous? Right then I hated him and thought he was uglier than my Crocs. Moreover, if he said, one more time, “No pain, no gain!”I would hurt him some way. I couldn’t lift anything, I had to shuffle walk, and I could not bend. Therefore, I could not hit, kick, or put him in a head lock. So I resorted to my vocabulary and told him he was a misogynist, making it sound like the filmiest profanity. It was obvious that he hated women, and he loved to inflict pain. My neck was crooked from muscle spasms, but I held my head high as I stormed out the door.
I never went to the gym again. Now I know why gyms don’t offer a trial period.
Since I never returned to the gym, I added time and distance to my walk. I met a new neighbor who enjoys walking and is a hot widower…