I’ve been working with a trainer for about a year. Before I started, I had a long conversation with him about how I’m not motivated by yelling. So, I really love him because he’s very sweet and gentle with me.
He’s the same one my niece goes to, but we’ve always gone at separate times. Yesterday I went with her to her session. What? The? Heck? was I thinking?
We bounced around from leg lifts while lying on a pool noodle to kettle bells to a contest to see which one of us could hold plank position the longest. While my niece sang along to Madonna, I was huffing and puffing and sweating like a glass of iced tea in August.
At one point, as I balanced on the end of a weight bench doing a billion crunches, I looked up at my sweet, gentle trainer and said, “I hate you.”
Evidently, in trainer world, that’s the biggest compliment you can give. It also means that the evil exercise gets added to my workout forever.