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Personal trainer
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In another post, I mentioned that I had joined a gym for the first time in my life. I grew my muscles the old fashioned way, by hard work. As I am getting older, work isn't all that hard anymore. Maybe that's because I do less of it. So I joined up to lift some weights, perhaps ride a machine or two, and get back in shape. And, the gym has a pool. We used to have a pool here at the LittleBIll compound, but it started to rust out, so it is no more. It was only good for floating around with a beer anyway. Besides, swimming outside in December isn't exactly my idea of fun, or even sanity.
I've been there about two weeks now, and have had several adventures there. One thing that is included in the swingeing fees they charge is a couple of appointments with a personal trainer. They set me up with a young gentleman whose father is four years younger than I am. It is an interesting relationship. He is not quite sure what to make of me, and I am taking orders from someone younger than my own children.
I had my initial appointment with him shortly after joining up. I was supposed to meet with him last week, but had to reschedule due to squirrelus interruptus. Today we met up again so he could take me through a personalized workout plan. I learned a few things. One, I had been just moving weights around on the various machines up until today. He walked me through a bunch of exercises, starting out with the exercycle, or whatever they call it. Then it was squats. I felt like telling him when you get older, you do lots of them anyway. I kept my mouth shut though, because I didn't want to give him the impression I thought he didn't know squat.
I was a little miffed at the weights he was suggesting for me. "I thought, I can lift way more than that!" Well lemme tell you something. By the time I was done, I was lucky to be lifting my feet off the floor. The last exercise probably made the least sense, but it was kind of fun. I had to take a 10 lb medicine ball, lift it over my head, and then hurl it to the floor with all my strength. I told him, "I'm already good at this one!" Every now and then something goes wrong in the shop and a piece of wood will impact the floor at near relativistic velocity. It doesn't improve my situation any, but it makes me feel better. By the time I did 10 reps of that though, I was ready to quit. Fortunately, it was the last thing on the list, and he was expecting my reaction. He told me I did better than he expected. Either that means I am in better shape than I thought, or I look even worse than I am. I will choose to believe the former rather than the latter.
There's no way I am going to join the musclehead crowd though. That's the group of guys there who spend what looks to be most of their life pumping Iron. Some of them have bulging muscles in their eyelids. I am going to have to stop looking in the mirror there though. I understand it is good for proper form, but it also keeps reminding me that right now I sort of look like a snowman in the sun with the way the weight is sluffing off of various parts, and none of it symmetrically.