April 3, 2013

My Hot Trainer


There is simply no way to look attractive when you work out, if you want to work out in the way that will actually build muscle.  I’ve never really been to a gym until recently and have instantly become aware of how disgusting most people look when they work out.  As it should be.  Sweating and straining may not be pretty in the act, but it will produce good results for your body if you know what you’re doing, or if you have an excellent trainer.  Which I do.  The only problem is…my trainer is hot.  I mean…most trainers are hot I suppose.  That’s kinda their job.  But my trainer is particularly hot, so naturally I wanted to look attractive as I began working out with him.  That notion of “looking attractive” gave out about 10 minutes into our first session. 

Our first workout is a night run.  I fancy myself a runner as I’ve continued to run throughout the years after competing during high school in cross country and track.  So I am ready to go into “mind over matter” mode and push myself to excel in our first run.  Which is all well and good, except it is about 30 degrees outside.  Which is REALLY cold for Los Angeles.  (East Coast and other cold area people insert scoff here.) And I am just getting over being sick.  So within minutes of the workout, my nose is running out of control, my tear ducts are out of control, and the phlegm in my throat is out of control.  I am out of control.  So – it is time to make a choice.  Slow down the run and look cuter and control the phlegm, yet look like a wimp, OR bust through the run like a champion and throw looking cute out the window. 

As my trainer gives me various tips on how to posture myself during the run, it takes all of my mind power to concentrate on those things and cute goes out the window whether I like it or not.  It is kind of liberating!  I look disgusting and my trainer (who hasn’t broken a sweat and does, in fact, NOT look disgusting like I do) is not judging me.  Well maybe he’s laughing inside at my attempt to spit off to the left and then accidentally spitting on myself, but he doesn’t show it and for that I respect him.

We finish the run with a short sprint and my legs are just about to collapse.  We finally stop.  I am proud of myself.  I am exhausted but pleased that I didn’t stop.  I look at my trainer triumphantly, thinking about food and water in my near future.  I look a mess and can’t remember ever looking not sweaty.  My shoes are coming untied.  My pants are giving me a wedgie.  My beanie is pushed back on my giant forehead and is pointed in the air.  I look like a garden gnome.  But I have conquered my first workout with just enough energy to spare.  On the other hand, my hot trainer looks like he just got done with a nice walk on the beach.  Then he says to me, “Great job.  Now let’s hit the gym.” 

WHAT.   

It wasn't over.  In my already sweaty and disgusting (yet oddly freezing due to the weather) state, that’s when I knew my trainer means business and I will never look cute working out ever again.  And I am okay with that.  Maybe one day I’ll catch my hot trainer also not looking cute as we work out, but it hasn’t happened yet.