It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about my trainer…heck, it’s been a while since I’ve blogged. Anyway.
When I left for vacation on Memorial Day, I had all the intentions to Hell and back that I would keep up with my workouts. Deanne is a certified
torturer spin instructor and certified super torturer personal trainer, so I assured my trainer I was in good hands and would not lose much ground.
Then I got to Utah and remembered I was on vacation.
And then I got to Japan and I had incredible joint pain for the first ten days. I did go to the gym with my sister a couple of times, but I just flat out didn’t care that I wasn’t working out.
So when I came back to Omaha, I knew I’d have to face the music eventually, so I logged on to the scheduling site to make an appointment with my doom.
My trainer’s name was not there.
I thought maybe the software switch was to blame, so of course rather than actually going in to the gym and asking what was going on, I just kept checking the online scheduler.
For a week.
I’m paying for this trainer (well, not this specific trainer–the company that employed him), so I finally went into the gym and explained that I had tried to make an appointment online.
“Oh yeah, Sam doesn’t work here anymore,” a friendly, tall, bald man said.
“So what should I do for training?” I asked.
“Well, we’ve just been reassigning, so let’s see…how about we put you with Jack?”
I don’t know who Jack is at all, but at this point, I was actually relieved–a fresh start! Someone who didn’t really know what I’d been doing!
Two weeks later, I had my first appointment with Jack. His personality is much bigger than Sam’s, and I immediately felt at ease with him. Jack has a great laugh and a huge smile, but I was worried when he showed me his workout for me, because it looked a lot like the evil that is high intensity interval training.
On paper, it looks simple: 1 minute of this, 1 minute of that, lather, rinse, repeat. But in reality, those 1 minute exercises make me want to die. I barely made it through the first session. I wear a heart rate monitor, and during those 1 minute stints, my monitor beeps at me–I think because it’s warning me that if I don’t stop I’m going to have a heart attack. (Some Internet research tells me it’s just telling me I’m not in a fat-burning zone, which makes me wonder why exactly I’m working that hard in the first place.)
Potential heart attack aside, I really do like Jack as a trainer. He is encouraging, and he can tell when I’m about to give up–because that’s when he starts to give me more time updates. (“20 seconds…15 seconds…10 seconds…keep going…5 seconds…”) He talks to me while he’s trying to kill me, asks me questions about my life, and doesn’t judge me (at least to my face). So I’m feeling a little more motivated to stick with everything he asking me to do…which is a post for another time.