Four Months

In a fit of curiosity/Sunday evening boredom, I started reading back through my December 2009/January 2010 blog posts this evening. I was looking for those earliest posts about my third (and hopefully last) personal trainer, one G. the Meanie. I'm still amazed at just how far I've come in four months.

He didn't start off as G. the Meanie. We had to get to know each other first, before I could come up with an appropriate way to keep him anonymous. Then he had to threaten me a little. From a post I wrote on New Year's Eve:

I had an hour-long workout with my new trainer. Well, it was our fifth session, so the newness is wearing off. Now we're into "Let's Make A Deal!" territory. I have to lose one pound by Monday or he's going to make me jog for 15 minutes without a break. I can't jog for fifteen straight minutes. I'll die.

I ended up losing that pound, and life was good. However, the next week, I didn't do so well. On January 11th, he made me run a mile-and-a-half without stopping. The pain! The agony! The whining!

I did not lose weight this week. Therefore, G., my sadistic unfeeling nasty trainer made me run today. A mile-and-a-half. Actually, it was a pitiful jog. But there was no walking. And I didn't stop. He wouldn't let me. The one time I did a little jog-hobble-walk move, he threatened to make it two miles. So I pushed. And wheezed.

A few days later, he was referred to as G. the Meanie for the first time (his reaction when I told him of his nickname on my blog was an incredulous and almost-offended-sounding, "G. the Meanie?!").

This was also when I really started to notice that he keeps tabs on me.

As I left a few minutes later, a voice came from a nearby weight machine.

"Hey, Megan! What'd you do today?"
I swear this guy has a radar. He can find his clients in a crowded gym. Then he checks up on them.

Though, according to a conversation we had the other day, he doesn't do this to all of his clients, only the ones he finds to be really committed to the program. I told him how I had to swallow my considerable pride to ask for help, and to keep going even after he has seen me at my very worst--falling (not to mention dropping a 25-pound weight on my ankle), throwing up, and even crying. I have actually told him, "I hate you," followed closely by, "I don't really mean that." He has heard me whine and bitch more than anyone else on the planet except for my parents. In the end, swallowing my pride has yielded some awesome results.

When I really think about it, I can't believe that it's only been four months since I first met G. I'd seen him working at the gym, and knew he was a trainer, but until I signed up for more sessions in December, I'd never had any reason to really pay attention to him. Now I feel like he's always been pushing me along, provoking me with comments like, "Are you going to quit?" It feels like so much longer than four months that he's been scrutinizing my food journal, looking over my shoulder as I weigh in, and pushing me to do things I never thought I could do.

Four months after that initial session, in which I assessed him as a trainer and he assessed me as a client, and the hurdles I have leaped over are many. I can run for 15 minutes without dying. In fact, I'm actually starting to enjoy running. I have great balance and way more grace in my movements. You can't entirely remove the klutz from me, but I am a lot better.

I have lost two clothing sizes (four overall, but two since working with G.) and almost 40 pounds (closing in on 60 overall). I have gained confidence and a whole new appreciation for working out and how good it makes me feel.

I've noticed I've been tacking "the Meanie" on less and less when I blog about my adventures in training. I'm not about to start referring to him as "the awesome trainer" or any such thing, as that would just go to his head (I often show him the blogs I write because I love showing off my LPB to anyone who'll read it). He's definitely less Meanie these days...or maybe I'm just more of an athlete.