expectations of a personal trainer

so today . . . i've decided age has it's advantages--at least when you are working with a personal trainer who is young enough to be your son!

yes, today was the day--it was time for my free consultation with a personal trainer. i admit i had some pre-conceived ideas as to what was going to happen. my experience with personal trainers is limited to watching other people want to kill theirs, so my first expectation was that he was going to make me suffer. a lot. and i was determined not to kill myself, or him, so our expectations may have been somewhat different.

we began by meeting in his office. he talked really really really really fast, which made it hard for me to catch everything he said--especially with my hearing issues. so i am pretty sure i didn't understand everything, but i made it clear right from the start that i was 51 years old. and would be 52 in another five months, so he should take it easy on me. he asked me what my goals were, and i said, "not to keel over dead while exercising." he looked at me blankly, like 'i can't write that down.'

"let's just say you want to increase your muscle tone." ok, i could live with that. increasing muscle tone doesn't sound all that hard. i kind of pictured lots of stretching, maybe some bike riding . . . then he wanted to know how serious i was about reaching my goal. i wasn't quite sure what he wanted me to say. i was very serious about not keeling over dead, but i didn't think that was the goal he was referring to, so i said, "well, i want to come to the gym a few times a week, but i also have a life."

i think maybe he gave up on me before we even left his office.

he guessed my height and missed it by 3 inches. he guessed my weight and missed it by 25 pounds. he handed me something that looked like a nintendo control and said, "stand up and hold this out at arms' length. it will measure the percentage of your body fat." maybe i didn't want to know the percentage of my body fat, but apparently i didn't have a choice! i obediently held it out until a number popped up. he looked at the readout and said, "hmmm. well that's obviously wrong!" ok, i'm starting to wonder if this is a personal trainer imposter. nothing is adding up . . .

after he tells me i need to add at least 15 pounds to my tiny little frame, we head out to the weight room. he feels i should be using free weights to "increase my muscle tone," so we walk down the long hall to the maximum security weight room. i say maximum security, because i don't think they let just anyone in there. i'm pretty sure they shouldn't have let me in there!

i hadn't seen this room before. it is separate from the cardio equipment and all the other machinery. the first thing i noticed was that the weights in this room were enormous!! the second thing i noticed was that everyone else in the room was male and muscle-bound. and there i went, in my new pink top, scrawny arms hanging from it's sleeveless shoulders, ponytail bobbing, following my trainer like a puppy.

he looked for weights for me, but the lightest ones in this room were 15 pounds. i'm not sure he thought i could even lift them, but i got through the first exercise and was feeling pretty proud of myself. until i tried the next one . . . it was harder, and i couldn't even do one with those big weights. he just looked at me, took the weights and led me out of the "big" boy weight room . . . i think he maybe he should have been able to tell that i didn't belong in there just by looking at me.

the rest of the work out went better. he lowered his expectations, i continued to remind him of my age, and we found some middle ground. he occasionally asked me to do something that i knew would kill me, i would say, "remember, i am old," and he would modify the instructions to better suit me.

he did push me to do more than i thought i could do, and i did it--most of the time. we worked muscles that have been taking it easy for far too long. i have no doubt that i will feel it tomorrow, but i'm still not completely sure what i should be doing when i am working out alone . . .

what i learned today is that the free consultation with a personal trainer is mostly an opportunity for them to try to get you to sign up for further personal training. he didn't design an exercise program or eating plan for me. he didn't show me how to use all the equipment. we didn't even go upstairs! he did tell me that if i would sign up for his services for the next three months, at a cost of almost $1200 for 24 hours of instruction and training, he could help me tone up those muscles, lower my body fat percentage (based on that crazy readout) and gain 15-20 pounds.

i politely declined.

i'm pretty sure if i set my mind to it, i can gain a few pounds on my own . . .

i will survive . . .

so today . . . diandra tried to kill me. with an elliptical machine. an unusual weapon for sure, but apparently her weapon of choice. thankfully i prevailed.

yes, we went to the gym together today. i can't say it was the most fun we have ever had together, but it probably wasn't the worst time either. although, i can't think of a worse time--oh wait a minute, yes i can . . .

anyway, it began in the women's locker room. let's just say that we saw things we wish we hadn't seen. diandra had the sense to come in her workout clothes. i did not. i had to come straight from school, because i knew that if i went home to change i might never end up at the gym. so we had to go in there. and while i do appreciate the fact that there were people of all ages, shapes, and sizes working out, i really didn't want to see them in the locker room. after their showers. before their clothes. although i do kind of have to admire the confidence of people who will wear their only towel around their head when the rest of them does not conform to popular standards. but still . . .

we were able to find our way out of the locker room while looking mostly at the floor or each other. i took my bag of school clothes back to the car, because it didn't occur to me to bring a lock so i could use a locker--that's how long it's been since i went to a gym!

i came back in and found diandra on the machine of death--the elliptical. i used to think this looked like fun! i see people selling them on tv all the time, and everyone who is using one looks like it is just the most fun they have ever had! (it isn't exercise--it's a party!) it is all a lie. these machines will kill you!!

i started moving my feet, pretty fast i thought. around and around and around. and then i was ready to move on to something else. but diandra wasn't stopping--i kept looking at her for signs of slowing down, but she just kept pumping those feet of hers around and around.

"i'm tired!" i said.

"mom," she said, "you have only been on that thing for two minutes."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!? i seriously thought i was going to die. i was sweating (which i rarely do,) i was sucking air, my legs were shaking, and my heart rate was already maxed out! and then she says, "we have to do this for 15 minutes." then i knew i was going to die. she must have sensed this from the look of despair on my face, because she graciously said, "we will go by the time on my machine, ok?" i gasped out, "ok." because she was about 4 minutes ahead of me.

i glanced at all the lights and numbers glowing on the screen on my machine and noticed that i had already burned 18 calories. "hey," i said, "i've burned 18 calories already." then i looked at her machine and noticed she had burned over 30. hmmm. "yes," she said, "it takes a lot of work to burn those calories. i'll bet the next time you look at something with 500 calories in it, you will think twice about eating it, knowing how much work it will take to burn it off!" there is good logic in that thought, but i might have traded her in for a twinkie at that point.

i plodded on. i slowed down, so as not to raise my heart rate too much. (i need to go to work tomorrow--i don't have time to be hospitalized with a heart attack.) i tried going backwards for a while, but that scared me--it felt like i was going to fall off the back of the machine! i kept my thumbs glued to the sensors that measured heart rate, figuring that if it got too high i would have a legitimate excuse to stop. but my body betrayed me once again, and my stupid heart hovered right around 145.

i wanted a drink from my water bottle soooo badly. but i was afraid to let go of the handles and reach for the bottle. and i knew that if i tipped my head back to drink, the machine would devour me. diandra did it--more than once, and without stopping. but i knew it would be the end of me, so i just tried to think of other things . . . which led me back to the fatigue in my legs.

when her timer neared 13 minutes, she informed me that we should really push hard those last two minutes. i said i would try not to die in those last two minutes. she took off! i watched the clock.

finally the magic time arrived! yay, i thought. now we can go sit on the weight machines. my legs will be so happy!

then she pointed me toward the bikes. oh no, i thought. my legs will cramp up. i will scream in pain. it will be bad for business. they will revoke my brand new shiny membership. but when i turned around, diandra was gone. i was alone with all those machines . . .

have any of you seen "transformers?"

well, she was gone and i didn't want to lose her, so i stayed where she had put me--at the stationary bikes. it wanted all kinds of information from me, and i didn't know the right answers to any of it's questions. so i just made stuff up and said i was a level 2--hoping that meant beginner, but not so bad as to be a level 1. i was going to be in BIG trouble if level 1 was the best and not the worst . . .

i started pedaling, my feet barely touching the pedals (i didn't know i needed to adjust the height of the seat!) and after about five minutes, the drill sergeant disguised as my daughter, returned. "where were you?" i said, a little desperately.

"i went to the treadmill. i didn't think you would want to do that." she said. she was right about that! so we rode the bikes. this time we went by the clock on my machine, since it was ahead of hers . . .

finally it was time to move to the weight room. this is the part i was looking forward to. well kind of. we went from machine to machine. diandra did 5 sets, i did 3 sets. when diandra set the weight to 50 pounds, i set it to 25 pounds. and with those adjustments, i was able to keep up with her. if you can call it keeping up . . .

i was just glad diandra was telling me what to do today. because we saw one girl working with a personal trainer who looked like she was going to crumple into a heap on the floor at any minute. i think that is the trainer's evil plan. because they know that if they leave you with any strength or energy at all, you will probably use it to hurt them, seriously hurt them.

so i made it through my first day at the gym. i don't feel too bad right now, although my legs felt like rubbery spaghetti when i walked to the car. i had serious doubts about whether i would even be able to drive home, since that required pushing pedals with my noodle legs. but i did. and then i folded laundry, warmed up some leftover steak for dinner and did some computer work.

oh, and ate a piece of chocolate cake.

how painful will it be?

so today . . . i joined a gym. i think.

diandra took the plunge a few weeks ago. she has talked about joining a gym for quite a while, and we have even talked about doing it together. but when rollie was in the hospital, she decided it was time. she texted me one afternoon while i was at the hospital to tell me she had joined, AND had signed up for four extra sessions with a personal trainer. she sounded really excited. i wasn't so sure . . . but she had an appointment to meet with the trainer, so i thought, "ok, we will see how this works out."

she came in the house from that first session very slowly. you should have seen her try to go up the stairs! it was hilarious--she could barely move!! i was so proud of her!!

i used to work out three times a week. when we lived in southern oregon, a new YMCA was built near our house. there was a lot of interest in it--i don't think there was another gym in town--and it was a lovely new facility. and i drove right by it on my way home from school. so i finally gave in to peer pressure and joined. i hated going, but i loved it once i got there. all the way home from school, i would argue with myself about whether i was going to go or not. i was tired. i had stuff to do. i could always go the next day. and yet, when i came to the entrance, most of the time my car would turn in. it was hard because i went alone. no one was waiting for me to show up, so it would have been easy not to go. but i went anyway.

then we moved from that small town, to one that was even smaller. it had a gym (kind of) but the monthly fee was ridiculous! so i convinced myself that i would just walk out in the fresh air for exercise. we were close to the beach, and i love the beach, so i thought it was a good solution. and it would have been, if i had ever done it. but it was cold. it was wet. there were lots of steep hills (which i know would have been good for me, had i ever gone . . . ) and so, it never happened.

then we moved here. people here are very health and body conscious. there are gyms on every corner, with people in them at every hour of the day and night. so i can't blame my inactivity on a lack of opportunity.

i blame it on the wardrobe.

i have come to the conclusion that i don't exercise, because i don't like having to change my clothes in the middle of the day! maybe it would help if i had cute exercise clothes, but i usually wear shorts and t-shirts that escaped the goodwill box only because i thought they would be ok to wear when i exercise. (i say "when," but i really mean "if i ever in a million years . . . ") but changing clothes to work out means hanging up and putting away the clothes i wore to work, and then repacking my gym bag after i put the workout clothes in the laundry, and then putting on another change of clothes until it is time to go to bed. i'm sorry, but that is just too much changing! and so i come home with every good intention of walking. but before i can get upstairs to put on walking clothes, i gtet distracted. and then it is time for dinner. and then it gets dark. and then it is finally too late. really. and so i go to bed, having escaped the exercise experience for another day.

but when diandra joined this gym, they had an incredible deal for other people who wanted to join with her. i wanted to join, but i didn't know how i would fit it into my schedule. and should i really pay for a gym to exercise in when i can't even get my body out the door to walk the poor puppies? and how long would i have to wait for equipment among the throngs of people who frequent these places?!?

we discussed it. and she reminded me that there was a time limit to the special offer. and i tried to figure out how i was ever going to find the time to do it. but diandra kept going, and she was moving a little easier each day.

finally i succumbed to peer pressure once again--ok, not peer pressure, but sometimes daughter pressure can be just as great! and told her i would give it a try.

and then today i got this text message: "you are a gym member, and you owe me $50."

i replied, "yay?" and she wrote back, "yay!"

so apparently i have a gym membership. and an appointment with a personal trainer--just ONE. and at least two facilities within a couple of miles of my house.

you would think that now i have no excuse for not exercising. and yet, i am sure i can think of one. or two.

i guess i'd better go pack my gym bag . . .