Eye of the tiger!
So I have a trainer now, which is hilarious for all kinds of reasons. Me, with a trainer! Who am I, Oprah? Do I get a cook next, or a lifestyle assistant? Who's responsible for these fucking soggy crudités, anyway? Also, there are at least three dead bugs in the reflecting pool. I cannot live like this.
I am betting that there are people out there who will assume the trainer was scheduled after one of my commenters railed against my enormous ass. (I had no idea my ass could make someone so angry. Not to mention my teeth! Let me at that weird freak who's like some kind of Pink Floyd cartoon! A giant walking ass with teeth coming out of it!) (Said commenter rocketed me back to seventh grade, when my group of "friends" sat me down and detailed everything that was wrong with my weird and misshapen body. Apparently I was problematic, and needed to be informed. No mention was made of my ass and teeth, strangely, but I do recall them being concerned with my overly pale complexion and need to grow breasts. I didn't go to the tanning salon or get implants, though, as I was twelve. Anyway, thanks, pals. As you can see I'm over it now. Sure, go ahead, friend me on Facebook! ) (However, if that commenter tries to friend me on Facebook, I will ignore her. I will ignore her so bad. Ah, delicious revenge.)
What was I—oh yes. My trainer! Actually I had scheduled time with the trainer after I joined the Y a few weeks ago and discovered just how cheap the personal training was, and also the one time I tried to use the weight machines I couldn't muster up the strength to adjust the seat (hmm, is the pin stuck? No it is not stuck I AM JUST WEAK AS AN ANEMIC KITTEN) and I was so horrified I scurried out of the room and back to the safety of the elliptical machines. I know how to use those things! You just put your feet on them and don't get distracted and fall off. Simple!
I may have fallen off a couple of times.
I told my trainer--whom I shall call Kevin, for that is his name—that my goal is to get strong. Freaky strong. "I want muscles, Kevin," I told him. "Big ones. Of course I know this isn't going to really happen, because I have the bone structure of a sparrow. But still, you get my point."
"I have never heard that before from any woman," said Kevin.
"Look," I told him. "My mom is in her seventies and can beat me at arm wrestling. She often does, for the amusement of her friends. This cannot continue."
Kevin nodded. "I see."
"Sometimes I arm wrestle with my son and I pretend to let him win, but sometimes I am not pretending. Seriously."
I waggled my tricep flab at him, and he had this weird coughing fit.
"Osteoporosis runs in my family, Kevin. My grandmother 's bones were like meringue. She sneezed and her face broke. KEVIN. DO NOT GIVE ME GIRLY EXERCISES WITH THREE-POUND WEIGHTS, DO YOU HEAR ME."
He heard me. Now I am walking funny, and I cry when I put on a shirt. But it's worth it, damn it. The next time my mom challenges me to a match, I am going to break her. (Not literally. The osteoporosis is from my dad's side.)










August 4, 2009
Reader Comments (84)
Secondly...good for you! I like that your getting in shape because you want to be strong and have healthy bones.
Signed,An Insecure Ivy Leaguer
I now have a picture of you pumping iron while a large bird squawks in your face.
Also, thank you to the commenter who painted the mental image of you working out with the bird from Up. Haaaa. hah.
Have fun training girl.
Wait, I have an idea, you get trained by the Y and I'll train your grandma and in 6 weeks you two see who wins at arm wrestling. Yessss!
I've found that my self-esteem is helped by not using mirrors or having too many pictures of myself taken. When I see documentation like that, it really messes up the very lovely image I have inside my head.
Naturally, I can remember this incident precisely but not a thing about the class in which it occurred.
You must buy this book. It is great, and I'm fairly sure you'd love it. Go on Alice, I dare ya!
(from a petite weight lifting woman who loves lifting, and no, I'm not scary looking at all)_______
http://www.amazon.com/New-Rules-Lifting-Women-Goddess/dp/1583333398
And poo poo on anyone who would comment on your body, when that is really not what the blog is about. I guess they are jealous and have to find something that they can pick on you for. Me likes you just as you are :)
Ignore the assholes who have nothing better to do than leave negative comments.
(The "fatty" part is implied in her tone.)
Good luck with Kevin. I'm sure he'll have you rocking the arm wrestling circuit in no time. Maybe you can even start arm wrestling professionally. Think Sly Stallone in that cheesy 80's movie "Over the Top."
And good on you for the trainer! But yes, stay away from Madonna's freaky arms. No one likes that.
Thanks for the entertainment! (And though I didn't have friends who listed my faults, I had one boyfriend who did--on more than one occasion. Why did I stick around to hear them again? Because I was 13. God, I hope my daughter just skips that entire part of her life. Or maybe I can just sleep through it.)