Last week my friend and I signed up for a group personal training session. We thought it’d be a fun thing to do. Make some memories. Check that experience off our list.
My friend, Kim, is in far better shape than I am. And by “in shape” I mean athletically fit. The girl goes to the gym every morning, runs and bikes with her sister, walks her chubby lil’ pup at least 4 times a day. I bought her a pedometer so she could track how many steps she takes in a day. There were a lot. Ironically, she lost it while walking. Now she uses her phone, because, you guessed it, there’s an app for that.
Me, on the other hand, I pretend I’m fit. I imagined that I’d stay in shape this summer. Ha. South Dakota is the perfect place to hike outside and really tire yourself out. Or so I thought. When I say we sat and watched bison all day, I mean that’s exactly what we did. There was minimal walking. There was also minimal working out. I had a solid 3 week stretch (out of 15) where I did abs every night, but that ended when I stopped caring. Which is why I inquired about personal training at my gym in the first place. I need someone to push me. In college, if I went to the gym by myself it turned into social hour. However, when I went with a friend that was generally more motivated than me, a work out actually occurred. Kim doesn’t need that push, but she wanted to learn more exercises so she agreed to come. Plus she had a free PT session for her birthday and who let’s free anything go to waste.
Our trainer immediately started us off with the ropes and kettle bell. Literally felt like I was on The Biggest Loser. Not only because we were doing the same exercises, but because I felt the urge to vomit. The few episodes I watched, these people would be walking on the treadmill for about 15 minutes, if that, and then unexpectedly hurl into a bucket or onto the floor. Great television. And I always wondered how that happened with so little exertion. Let me tell you, that is plenty of exertion for your body to say “Fuck you, I’m puking”. How do I know this? Oh, because probably about 15 minutes in to my training session I was lucky enough to feel dizzy, light-headed and re-experience my cocoa puffs from 2 hours earlier. Yup, I actually puked. Could not believe how little exercised. We barely did anything. We rocked some squats, some arms, some lunges, some mountain climbers and then my body shut down. I did have to sit out for a bit to regain composure before we did arms, but I thought that’d be it. Nope! That was my body signaling my brain to stop. Ha! Who listens to their body? Not me. No pain, no gain. And I assure you, my body was in a lot of pain. So far it’s been three days since the session and my triceps still burn. I just want Jenn Aniston arms! And Carrie Underwood legs! Why aren’t those natural occurrences?
THIS IS PERFECTION.
What did Kim do throughout my episode? She kept working out. I ran outside and she chugged along, confused about my state. After surviving four college soccer preseasons without throwing up I thought I was free. Thought I’d never have to worry about getting sick from training. I’ve seen girls get sick, too. During a timed mile, one girl in my heat was ahead of me, stopped to puke and still managed to beat me. Woops. Still, I didn’t vom. Too bad I can’t say I have a clean track record anymore.
So now, among the trainers and staff I will probably be known as the girl who puked in the back corner of the field outside. At least I chose a relatively hidden place. Not like I blew chunks in the middle of the weight room. Ew. Now that person is going to have to switch gyms. Not me, though. I just have to pray the trainers think it’s funny as opposed to utterly disgusting…which it is. Please just let them remember my name is Toby, not pukey or something far less clever.
My next training session is Thursday morning. Pray I survive. Or at least leave with my stomach acid in tact. Bulimia isn’t a good look on anyone.