Taking It Personally
About eight weeks ago, my other half’s semi-constant evangelist mithering finally took hold and I made enquiries with a personal trainer. Specifically, I emailed the same PT my fiancee goes to. I opened my enquiry email with pretty much the same sentiment as above and PT responded saying I should adopt the “happy wifey, happy lifey” philosophy. That made me laugh and so, because I will do almost literally anything in the pursuit of a chuckle, I engaged her services.
At the initial consultation, I struggled to come up with any concrete goals. I do a decent amount of running so my legs are quite strong, and I guess I was looking to even things out a bit. My explanation of ‘I want to look less like a frog; with big strong legs, a potbelly and little weedy arms’ did not get the hilarious response I expected. More of a look up and down and a worrying, knowing nod…
The one goal I did have (to try and run a sub-four marathon) I described as “super long-term”. The response? ‘I don’t think that needs to be a long-term goal’. What exactly had I gotten myself into here? Well, I soon found out.
A week later, my first session was described as a ‘general fitness test.’ I was, and still am, an absolute novice when it comes to strength training and as such I didn’t really know where my limits lay. Well, I soon found out.
With hindsight, it is feasible that I may have over-stretched myself in that first session in a desperate attempt to impress. I’m not sure what I expected to happen; “oh gosh you’re so strong, you don’t need me at all!” Unlikely.
I say I ‘may’ have over-stretched myself, but I found out for certain how silly I had been in the following two or three days. Regular exercisers will know this as ‘The DOMS’ (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) — irregular exercisers will know this as ‘The RIDE’ (Reason I Don’t Exercise).
The next morning was OK, a little tense but not too bad. And then I got sorer, and sorer, and sorer. Forty-eight hours later my arms could not be straightened under their own power. It isn’t until that skill is taken away from you that you realise how important it is.
Forced to develop a new, inventive method of stretching my biceps, I developed a system of clamping my hand between my knees and pulling my shoulder away by standing upright, like some sort of fleshy fulcrum. Embarrassing, sure, but effective. The saying is ‘no pain, no gain’ but I feel like there should be some level of negotiation available — how about; minor stress, minor progress? Admit defeat, no need for Deep Heat?
Mercifully, the pain faded and with time the workouts have become easier. I have yet to reach those agonising heights (or more accurately stooped, feeble lows) again. That said, it seems no sooner have I mastered something that it is replaced with a newer method of crueler and more unusual punishment.
As I say, I am learning all the time. And a lot of what I learn is about myself; How hard can I push my body? How committed do I need to be to a routine to see results? Why is it so hard to count at the same as doing anything even slightly strenuous?
“How many is that?” is a regular refrain in my sessions — sometimes I think PT answers truthfully, sometimes I think she just takes a punt at how many more reps I can do. “Er… two more?” she’ll say, with only the faintest change in pitch letting me know that she’ll be amazed if I get passed one with asking “how many is that?”
By contrast, the strength on show from PT is astounding. Occasionally (read; often), I will be struggling with an exercise or technique and she will demonstrate it with such consummate ease that I will wonder if she has switched the weights when I looked away briefly. My reaction is always the same:
“Oh, I see. I’ve wasted my life.”
Away from the existential dread, however, I am enjoying the sessions. I already feel stronger, fitter and healthier, my clothes fit better, and I have lost a few pounds — all things I have been trying to achieve exclusively with cardio-vascular exercise to no avail. In truth, I should have started ten-years ago.
I mean, sure, I am in pretty much perpetual agony. But I am assured that is all part of the process…
