I expect to be sore tomorrow, to say the least.
(whining idle postulation alert) I may decide to live downstairs tomorrow rather than climb stairs. I'll have the kids cook and bring me food, and if they're at school, well, I won't eat. I can drink from the bathroom faucet, I have internet access, books, writing materials, art materials--I can live here quite comfortably for some time, thank you. There's the iffy part about sleeping on the 3' padded chest, but I'll make due.
I'm not super-sore yet, but it's been only 7 hours. Teh sore, it waits.
Unlike the first two times my trainer F. worked with me, this time I had only two short breaks, and he kept adding weights, laughing sadistically. Okay, I'm making up the laughing part. He said things like excellent effort, but I know he was laughing inside, especially when he helped me up from the ground. I could get up right away, really. I just didn't feel like it just then. Really.
No, really. I was contemplating getting up when he offered his hand. So much for a few seconds break before the next set of weight hefting.
This is what trainers are awesome for. He knows my brain, too, weirdly because hardly anyone knows my brain. He said stuff like, let's do just five reps this time, you're tired and I (stupidly) said I think I can do eight, and he said excellent. If you think you can do ten, go for it. (D'oh!) Which of course I can do ten. Would I do ten on my own? Would I push myself hard on any of this stuff? When I'm on my own I tell myself I did a hard workout, but let's face it, the answer would be no. Compare the 25 minutes with F. vs. Kami on her own 'pushing hard' for an hour, and there's really no comparison in effort or results. I have voices in my head that tell me I'm doing great, and then they're all puffed up with virtue when I leave the gym all sweaty and gross. The voices that come from F. are encouraging too, but he knows the voices in my head are full of bs, pretty much like most people's. Even he has a trainer.
Anyway, when I expressed interest in Boot Camp, he said "we'll see if we can work you up to that" and I thought dang! Every time I hear him say good effort now, I also hear in my own head, "and if you work hard enough long enough, you might be able to join in the Boot Camp class." I'm pretty sure that was on purpose.
He pulled another good one today too. I'd mentioned that I'd done some sort of training off and on all my life, and that I had no excuses as far as getting and being in shape: my father was an alternate on the Olympic skiing team (his specialty was the giant slalom.) My sister and I were expected to be active and outdoorsy in a variety of sports all our lives. So when I was struggling with a sadistic exercise known as the row pull-up, he said, "you're doing great! Those olympic athlete genetics are coming through!" and I thought dammit, I have to make daddy proud.
BTW, with the row pull-up the closer you are to horizontal, the harder those things are, and I was about halfway closer to the ground than the model in the link. Yowza. I also held onto a bar with my hands shoulder width apart. I don't know if it's harder that way than with the grips but I'll say it is just 'cause I'm still in whining mode.
So now I have kewl new things to do in the gym, thanks to my painmaster at 24 Hour Fitness. It's never the specific club, it's the people, and they have good people at the club.
I'll be back there Tuesday, because I'm like that. If I can still work the clutch on the car. Maybe with some ibuprofen and some deep tissue massage, I'll manage it.
No comments:
Post a Comment