In case you’ve ever wondered what goes through the mind of anyone with a personal trainer, this sums it up nicely. There is a fine balance between “Oh Yeah…let’s do this shit” and “This may be the reason I’m in a motorized cart for the rest of my life”.
My husband battles with understanding the importance and worth of a personal trainer. Every month. When the billing hits our checking account. Like clockwork. It’s Battle Royale of the “Why is this necessary? You don’t get anything from it?! It’s just time with a trainer?”
Well, my husband of 10 years who should know by now that I remember every single frivolous purchase you’ve made in the past 15 years, Personal Training / Fitness Coaching will be the most Tangible yet Intangible time you will buy. What you actually get is so much more than time.
I was reading the posts from Fat Girl Wunning and I was hit with one of my “why’s” Why do I put myself through the soreness? Why do I fork out cold card earned cash every month for my Coach? This is WHY:
Personal Trainers are Motivators, Dictators, Friends and Mortal Enemies. They are exactly what we need to push ourselves to the new limits required to meet our goals. It may feel like we’re dying, but they would never push us to injury or harm. They will however make you swear like a sailor and sweat like a hooker in church.
Check out Fat Girl Wunnings recent musings with her personal trainer. They are brilliantly hilarious…and real life.
So in my last entry, I wrote about how all I do is complain to Franz, and when it really hurts, he doesn’t believe me. Well, after that blog came out, a loyal reader (Hey, Katie!) suggested that we come up with a safe word to use. You know, the one word that I’m allowed to use to tell him that NO I’M DEAD SERIOUS, I’M DYING.
When I walked into training on that Wednesday, I proposed this idea to him, and he laughed. Then we both threw out words to use… at the same time. His was ‘Nutella’. Mine was ‘Marshmallow’. The first thing I thought was, I need a s’more.
After this, he proceeded to kick my ass, and I couldn’t use my legs for two days, and I never did get my s’more.
By the way, when Katie suggested I use a safe word, she also…
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