I have belonged to many gyms in my day, including the one I am currently offering monthly donations to. (Me and my current gym have worked out a great system, though. I don't go, so I no longer just feel guilty for not working out, now I get to pay for that privilege. Used to be you could get that kind of guilt for free.)
But as we learned in the post below, I was not throwing ENOUGH money at my weight issues, so I decided to supplement my spending by hiring a trainer. And as the first one didn't work out so well, I had to go searching for another.
Now. This second time around, I was a bit more careful, realizing that "cheap" is not maybe the BEST criterion on which to make one's selection of personal trainer. Ahem.
Thus, taking "cheap" out of the search process, I found a wonderful, smart, knowledgeable, enthusiastic and understanding trainer who costs as much as, oh, I dunno, raising a small pony.
(Oh, but that's okay. I'm sure having that "savings" thing everyone's always talking about isn't really all it's cracked up to be.)
So I now meet with my trainer once or twice a week (because seriously, that is all I can afford), and she makes me lift things. And bend. And stretch. And roll. And I think I am doing fine.
I am not sure I am losing any weight or gaining any strength, but I HAVE learned how to get on and off the ball without slamming into the floor. This is progress. I'm considering adding it to my resume. My new LinkedIn headline will be all
"Marketing & Events Professional With 10+ Years' Experience. Can Also Get Off Ball."
I believe we call this "work/life" balance.
Anyway, I started to wonder if maybe the reason I think things are going well is because we haven't really talked about diet. She has touched on the subject, but hasn't come at me full-force with broccoli-related advice, perhaps because she's afraid of scaring me off.
Well, except last week, she gently touched on the subject again.
"What have you been eating lately?" she asked verrrrrry casually.
"Well, I have to say, I'm trying to get into a routine now that I'm commuting. And my first couple weeks were okay, but not great. I stop for coffee at the drive-through every morning, and I was pickingup breakfast there, too."
She maintained a casual air as she asked, "Oh? And what do you get for breakfast?"
"I've been getting bagels," I said, trying not to look her in the eye.
She tried not to wince. I could see it. "Do you at least get...whole grain?"
"Yes," I said, because I do. But then she asked, "And what do you put on it?"
Now I was wincing.
"...c-c-ream cheese?" I said, as though asking a question. As though turning it into a question could make it be less true.
But it didn't make it less true. And her face fell. She looked at me like I'd just told her I eat puppies for breakfast. With a side of babies.
"Kristy." She said. It was a complete statement. One that suggested, gently, that I had officially ruined her life.
I felt the bagel shame.
And I expected to get a further lecture, to hear details about the evils of bagels, but none came. She had said her piece. We moved on from one form of bendy torture to some other form of bendy torture in silence, save for her suggestion that I do at least 15 reps of some curly arm thing.
But then, as I was huffing and puffing away, she launched into this casual, earnest, HORRIFYING soliloquy about how THIS IS THE TIME in my life to lose this weight and get in shape and get healthy because otherwise I am getting OLD and looking down a dark and narrow path of DEATH. All that awaits me is diabetes and heart disease and stroke and more things that lead to DEATH.
I am maybe paraphrasing.
But the point is, no one in the history of the world has ever painted such a bleak picture of bagels. And she totally meant well and was just trying to be helpful, but OH MY GOD. Bagels! They are just...just...innocent rounds of delicousness! Little discs of heaven, covered in fatty goodness! Satisfying celebrations of carbs!
Except right, they are also apparently killing me. While I was busy thinking "Hey, at least they aren't Krispy Kremes," the bagels have been busy plotting my end, serving as vehicles of doom, working steadfastly to bring about my untimely demise. One cream cheese packet at a time.
So now I'm working on being a Bagel Rejector. Perhaps if enough of us with gym memberships and trainers and guilty consciences come together, we can form some sort of Ban-The-Bagel Coalition. We can march up and down the streets (cardio!) and at last, draw attention to the insidious evil that lives within each scrumptious bagel bite.
We can end the madness.
And the bagels? They can fend for themselves on the black market for all I care.
In the meantime, I shall have to re-calibrate my morning routine. Pass the unflavored, nutrient-rich yogurt, please.