I hate working out, but apparently it's a thing that grownups do to stay alive. Despite the bar's best efforts to usurp every waking (and sleeping) minute of my life, I decided to get one of those trial packs for a personal trainer at my gym.
I've never done personal training. Before today, I didn't even really understand what they do other than yell at you for being weak and needing just. one. more. rep. And yes, I probably judged those people who get a personal trainer for being vain--while secretly wishing that I could have one. So you see, I hate the gym, and I hate working out (because I don't know how? Nah.). But, I'm trying this new thing where I stop thinking so much about stuff and just see what happens.
Well, turns out, what happens is I almost throw up. My trainer did a diagnostic. A diagnostic. I'm talking weighing, blood pressure, "endurance," balance, core, etc. Real, um, basic stuff. And I'm so eager to impress this stranger--whom I'm paying(!)--that I push myself on a diagnostic to the point that I almost puke, actually feel like the room won't stop spinning, and have to lie down in the middle of the gym for a good 10 minutes.
I'm gonna be so hot.
1 comment:
Aww...don't worry, I'm sure you don't need to puke to impress the trainer =)
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