This past Saturday, I had my first meeting and workout with my new Wellness Coach. Yeah, that’s what I said. Long story short, I Googled for personal trainers in my area because I’ve just had it. I’m willing to throw some money at the problem.
The first person that came up, had a woman on it that was insanely jacked and obviously super fit and gorgeous, so I’d settle for like a quarter of that…so, I inquired within. I emailed her, told her a bit about myself, you know, the usual….heart attack at 32, obese since I was a fetus, have been on every diet known to women. You know, the usual rundown. She emailed back and I then emailed back and then we talked on the phone and I was like, this is it. I know it. We just clicked. She had a diverse background of personal training, nutrition and dealing with all the mental stuff that’s going on in there…so, she is more of a Wellness Coach versus a personal trainer. So, I need the whole package, so bonus.
She also teaches small classes throughout the week, so I sign up for what will be two classes per week and two personal training sessions per month. As well as nutrition and just general wellness stuff.
So it’s Friday night. Night before my first training. The reality of the situation is starting to sink in. Holy crap. What have I done?? I’m looking at her website again, lots of pictures of jacked women. Like, women who can look down and 100% see their feet. Maybe I’ve made a bad choice. I’m going to be like Chris Farley in a bunch of Sports Illustrated models. Oh my God, what have I done??
Saturday I wake up. Weigh myself. Awesome. Gained a pound. Cool. So, I put on my faded black Old Navy yoga pants, a black sports bra that really doesn’t work that great, a black tank top to really hold it all in, a pink tank top to have a pop of color and a charcoal colored hoodie. AND my new workout shoes that I got for Zumba (you need a shoe that has a “pivot spot” for Zumba, did you know this?) But, they’re super cute, so I want to wear them for my new Wellness Coach. I hop in my car and drive the short 3 minutes to where I’ll be meeting her to begin what I am imaging as unimaginable terror and pain. (Yes, I know what you’re thinking, I could’ve walked that short distance to get in some extra fitness. But it was kinda drizzling out and I was scared I wouldn’t be able to walk home after due to me dying in class…)
There’s only two of us in her class that day, my super fit Coach, another woman who was very athletic and fit as well and me. I see this white board in the front of the class with a pretty lengthy list of exercises. Ones I recognize from reading Health Magazine, but rarely do…like Squats, sit-ups, push-ups…and then some like: Kettlebell thrusters, Kettleball swings, I think one said Parallel Rows, I’m not sure, there were so many…and all sorts of other things that just scared me. But, this isn’t a list of things I’M going to be doing…right?? Wrong. It was.
We start in. Of course the exercises that she’s having me do and the exercises that she’s having this other woman in class do (who’d been going to her for a while, I think…) are VASTLY different.
One exercise she wants me to do is called the “crab” I think. On the floor, halfway to a London Bridge move that I could never do as a kid either…she wants me to get into that position and then touch my left hand to my right foot and back and forth. She said to me, “Can you do this?” And I think I said something like, “Ummm…not even a little bit.”
Listen, I’m willing to try anything. I wasn’t being negative, I just know what I currently can and cannot do, physically. And I know that I can barely lift myself off the floor with two hands, no mind one. But, I get down there and try. Nope. I believe if I lift one hand off the ground to try to touch my foot, my other arm will shatter. So, she has me just do the move while sitting on my butt. (I can barely do that, people…)
(This is what the Crab Exercise looks like. And I know what you’re thinking, but no, that isn’t me…)
Move after move. Station after station. Jumping up. Lying down for “Explosive Sit-ups”. Planking. Swinging Kettles and Bells. Stepping up onto things. More squatting with my hands on a chair. Trying to keep up as best as I can so I don’t look like a total Jabba the Hutt. I keep checking the pulse on my neck, like, “I think I’m going to throw up my heart.” But, I keep pushing. And saying a mild mannered “Holy shitballs” every now and again. Just to make sure I can still speak.
As the workout progressed, I felt a sense more and more of, “I can do this!” I’m all Stuart Smalley-ing myself inside.
And you know what? I loved it. I felt like a total badass after. It was as if I was in a movie montage where the unfit man is training to be a boxer to win money for his nephews kidney transplant with like “Eye of the Tiger” playing over the scene. Wait, I think that’s called “Rocky” and I haven’t seen it, but I don’t think Sly was ever an “unfit man”…and I have no idea about the whole nephew/transplant thing…
I’m super excited to continue this new journey and become like a famous weight-lifter or fitness expert, I don’t know where this road is going to lead…
I will say though that, Sunday morning…through….ummm….like as I’m typing this….I was and am in some serious, serious pain. Holy Moly. I’ve been walking like the Tin Man for 48 hours. I almost had to ask someone to go get my coffee this morning at work because those two flights of stairs to get there looked like fiery glass-shard covered planks of death to my insanely hurting thighs (or as my bf called them “quads”, but I just don’t feel comfortable using such terms yet.)
People keep saying, “But it’s a GOOD pain!” Ugh. Yeah, I get it. I do. But it’s still PAIN. I’m not kidding. I’ve had some serious pain in my life; three heart surgeries where they have to press on your groin area for thirty minutes straight with a weighted tool to stop the bleeding. Yeah, that hurt. But at least I got some super awesome drugs for that. I don’t think I can get Dilauded for workout pain…
Alright, I’ll keep you updated. I’m going to go listen to “Eye of the Tiger” while I rub Icy Hot into my legs. I gotta get ready for my next class…tomorrow night! Oh Dear God. No wait, I can’t wait!! 😉
I can’t wait to see what my feet look like from a standing position!! WooHoo!
Loved reading this about my daughter’s class. Sent you a let me know what you think somewhere else on this blog of yours. hope you get it, your writing is incredibly funny and entertaining, keep it up, no doubt every class will give you new levels of writing and find muscles you never knew existed. Jan
I’ve already found a few new muscles, I think. And your daughters class is certainly going to give me lots of new blog ideas. Maybe something soon called, “You want ME to lift THAT?”
You are a badass! Can’t wait for you to destroy today’s session!
Good job-so proud of you!