I've told him--more than once--in the time I've known him that he definitely got the easier Meg than any of my other trainers. By the time I started working out with him, I'd built up a lot of confidence.
Now, of course, I don't bother with cute nicknames and just refer to him as Matt. He's once again my trainer, but also my friend. A friend who is once again pushing me to be stronger and more awesome. A friend who helped me through the certification process in July, explaining things I just couldn't get from the reading, showing me examples, walking me through things. He even lent his car expertise as I started exploring the possibility of buying a new vehicle.
Last week, he loaded up his trap bar with enough weight discs that the bar and added weights totaled 120 pounds--this would be a new best dead lift for me. It wasn't easy, but I got through a few sets and got the requisite show-off picture for my troubles.
|Hey, she's earned the right to brag, 'k?|
He told me we'd go for 150 this week, and I just grinned and said, "Bring it!" or some such cheesy saying, to indicate my willingness to be even more badass.
So today, we went for 150. And holy hell, it was difficult. I paused at one point realized, "I'm dead lifting myself." (Yeah, last weigh-in was about 150, and that was a few months ago. I don't really keep track of the scale anymore, but rather how I feel, and the new pants, a size smaller, that I bought a few weeks ago.)
We started with an empty bar, which weighs about fifty pounds. Easy-peasy. Ten rapid lifts, followed by a few at 120, then two at 140. Those were harder, but I got it off the floor and got myself completely upright.
One-fifty, however, was harder. Almost not possible today. In typical Matt fashion, there was a lot of encouragement. He gave me the option of giving up today and going for it next time, but my pride was screaming, "NO!! Try one more time!!" So I did. I told him to try yelling at me. Matt's personality is basically the polar opposite of Drill Sergeant, so it was a little funny when he did. Not ineffective--not in the least--but just so not what I'm used to from him. I continued to struggle (and a few naughty words escaped in my frustration).
But then, Matt stopped yelling, put a few fingers under the trap bar, and did what he does best--encouraged.
I got that damned thing off the ground. It wasn't pretty, but I dead lifted 150 pounds.
We're going to try again next week. I'll show up with my determination and (considerable) pride, ready to kick ass or fall down trying. Matt, meanwhile, will quietly encourage, as he always does. I wouldn't make these gains without him.
As my workout wound down, I mentioned how tired I am today, and how amazing it is that even with resting completely on Sunday, and only doing 15 minutes on the bike yesterday, I can still be recovering from my half marathon a few days out. "But I don't regret taking it easy..."
"Of course not! You shouldn't! That's why we took it easy today..."
I must have had a "look" on my face because he paused at that and gave me a sheepish grin. "Well, you know, except for dead lifting 150 pounds."
Oh, don't go too easy on me, Matt. That's not my style anyway. ; )