First time working out with a personal trainer

MAYBE IT’S JUST ME, but I seem to be a bit chubby after the holidays. I suspect it was the sugar cookies. And possibly the pumpkin pie, hot cocoa and giant holiday meals. Honestly, I haven’t said “no” to any type of food since Thanksgiving. Oh, fine. Since Halloween.
Now before you think I’m a complete glutton, let me just say I did restrain myself. No. That’s a lie. I started with a Costco-sized bag of Halloween candy in September and I haven’t missed a meal or a cookie or a giant slab of pie since. Of course, the end result is that all I got for a Christmas is a giant butt that could rival the Kardashians. I could block out the sun with this thing.
Now look, it’s not like I didn’t try to lose the weight. Apparently, though, my usual gym routine of wandering around aimlessly looking at the machines until I find one with instructions on it that I can read without my glasses, followed by a leisurely stroll on the treadmill while squinting at the TV wasn’t going to cut it. It was time to get a professional.
I don’t know how many of you have ever hired a trainer. It’s like hiring a hit man to kill you once a week. And it’s not just physical pain, either. No, they get in your head. I know this because the first thing the trainer did was weigh me. And I wasn’t allowed to close my eyes so I could avoid knowing what I actually weigh. It was horrifying.
Then the trainer got really, really mean. Yes, body measurements were taken, despite my protests. Let’s just say I have more body fat than brain cells. And once that is done, we moved to exercising. This was when I realized “no pain, no gain, “wasn’t just a slogan, it was my new reality.
And it hurt.
I did box squats. Leg lifts. Lunges. I trained my core—which is apparently the huge blob of jiggly fat I call abs. Who knew there were muscles to train underneath all of that? I lifted my arms until I honestly believed they would fall off. I squatted across the gym while wearing a rubber band around my legs. I did the assisted pull up machine. And I fell off of it. I did things to my biceps that are unspeakable. I swear to you, I have even done toe exercises.
Oh, fine. Maybe I just thought I did. Much of the time I was exercising, I was delirious.
Anyway, the end result is, I have not lost one pound. Not even an ounce. And there are days when I can’t walk up my stairs without screaming in agony. But my rear no longer blocks the sun. It’s more of a partial block, like an eclipse. I’m good with that. And before you ask…yes, the cookies were totally worth it. The pie? Eh, not so much.
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