My Personal Trainer Is Trying To Kill Me

All right, yes.  Clearly, I exaggerate.  She’s great, and the exercise regimens she puts together for me work really well (when I actually do them).  But there are times, when she’s explaining to me what she’s going to have me do, that I just want to whimper and hide.  I’ll get through one set of a new routine, and my muscles will be aching and burning and I’ll be covered with sweat and glad that’s done, and I’ll hear “all right – two more times”, and just for a moment I find myself wondering why I’m doing this to myself.

The presence of my son doesn’t help, not at those moments.  Because I’ll look up, and he’ll be running around the padded gym floor (there’s also a martial arts dojo there) laying out yoga mats and bricks and the like as an obstacle course, and I’ll remember just what sort of terrible shape I’m in.  Because I have nothing like the energy he has.  And then, sometimes, he’ll echo my trainer:  “Two more times!”

Then I groan and get back to work.  Because I really do know why I’m doing all of this.  Because I want to lose weight, get into shape, and be healthy, and I’m at a point where I need help to figure out how to do that.  And because my son is there, and I want him to see his daddy setting a good example about exercising and being healthy.

It’s just too bad that I can’t combine that with easy exercises.

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