I had a training session with Dan Dan the training man today. He decided 'we'd' have a CV day today or as I class it, a very sweaty day as opposed to the just plain sweaty day. The cross-trainer, bike and rower were the chosen instruments of torture but we ended the session with my favourite - boxercise.
Gloves on, seconds out but with a difference. As the weather was almost springlike, and I was turning radish coloured, we went outside to boxercise. The fresh air was welcome as we took up our spot on the grass behind the gym which happens to be next to a motorway. Strangely the audience of reps in Renaults didn't bother me and I was soon pounding away at the pads.
And then it happened. I got honked by a passing truckie causing me to momentarily stop and run around in a Rocky style victory dance. Anyone who suggests the truckie may have been honking at Dan can go forth. Tomorrow I may try and get a wolf whistle from a builder and most certainly I will not be happy unless I get two honks during any future al fresco boxercising.
Of course, if I am Rocky that makes Dan 'Mickey' by default.
Let me bring you up to date with my gym bunny persona (leotard optional)
When I won the competition for a year's life coaching it also came with a fund to put towards anything that would help you achieve a goal. I came up with the idea of personal training (someone training me, not the other way round).
I had joined a gym a few months previously and immediately loved it. This may be due to timing my visits to coincide with the 'comfortable bunch' - retired gentlemen and ladies who lunch. We would gently peddle on the bikes or leisurely walk on the treadmill whilst discussing various illnesses and the state of the world ('I remember when....') I like old people. I want to be one when I grow up. There is never a Lycra clad lovely or body beautiful sweat bucket present at the times I go.
One lady in the gym had personal training with one of the instructors and I admit to being somewhat envious. I think it is some form of Madonna Complex. And so I opted for 6months training as part of my prize. 'Think about setting a goal' I was advised and my imagination ran away with me, but my legs couldn't keep up.
Initially I came up with the idea of using the training to prepare for a 10km charity run. People would admire me, people would love me and it was surely not an insurmountable task.
This idea then feel by the wayside as it dawned on me distances of 10km are why we have public transport. I was far less fit and far more fat in reality than the wonderful world of my own head. And...I didn't want to do it.
So now my trainer has the simple (ha!) task of helping me achieve a shape that is not defined as jelly and without the pressure of the run I can resort to making our sessions the greatest challenge of his life.
My trainer, Dan, is a mere slip of a 20 year old. On some rough, Shameless-esque estates I am old enough to be his mother and with this in mind I demand respect. This demand usually results in an extra set of sit ups. Damn the young in positions of power!
His face crinkles when I refuse to get on the scales before removing my trainers and anything else my modesty will allow. If only he knew of the times I have shaved my armpits and legs thinking that would help, removed the hair slide and ofcourse, the traditional going to the loo in the hope of that magic bowel movement that will whisk away 3lbs.
I will not bore you with facts and figures (sic) suffice to say to stop the scales crying at the sight of me, a rather large amount of lard needs to melt. I have no fixed future targets, I have enough deadlines elsewhere in my life without adding another set. But, I will no doubt be sharing with you some of the highlights on the way to wherever it is Dan is trying to get me to. I promise to shower before posting.
Today I did 54 lengths in the swimming pool today. The gym pool is smaller than an Olympic pool but larger than a paddling pool.
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