Ah, measurements. What fun humiliation! I curse myself for eating that second (ok, third) piece of ice cream cake last night, but I had to finish it, didn’t I? I’m sure cake won’t be on the diet going forward.
“So what did you weigh when you trained with Chris?” he asked nonchalantly.
Oh man. I knew all the trainers talk. I feel myself blush.
“I don’t know. She was a really good trainer. Really good. I just feel weird about training with someone who is going to compete against me.”
I take off my shoes and step on the scale. 146 lbs. Damn birthday cake. At least it’s not the 150 lbs. it was on New Year’s Day. Progress. I like it.
“So what do you do?” he asked taking out the white instrument that measures your body fat. This tool was created by a direct descendent of the Head Torturer for the Spanish Inquisition.
“My husband and I own an apartment building. He runs it and I do the book keeping and take care of the kids. The units are really big and we fully remodeled most of them.”
“My roommate and I just signed a new lease. Too bad I didn’t know about your building. Put your arm behind your back.” He pinched away and wrote down the numbers.
“Well, we’re open to bartering training sessions for rent and my husband wants to eventually get in shape too. So maybe next year when your lease is done you can check our building out. We also pay for referrals.” He pinched my flabby stomach, waist, and legs. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
“My girlfriend is looking for an apartment.”
“Oh? Is she a trainer too? Maybe I could work a barter with her.”
“Uh…no. She’s not a trainer.”
Oops. Knowing that I already switched trainers, suggesting to my new trainer that perhaps I might switch again with his girlfriend before we even had our first session was probably not the wisest comment to make, but sometimes there is no filter between my brain and mouth.
I recover via switching subjects. “I’m also a writer. I wrote a children’s book that won a Mom’s Choice Award. It’s called, “Mind Your Manners Minnie Monster!” I did the illustrations too.”
“Wow. That’s cool. My nephew could probably use a book like that.”
“I’ll bring one for him next time.”
He does some calculations. “You’re at 29% body fat. To be in the competition you need to be at 10-11%. You weigh 146 lbs. You’re goal should be 114-125 lbs.”
“I used to be an actress. I weighed 107 lbs. then.”
“That’s too thin. You need to be 114-125 lbs. But I don’t want you to focus on the weight. I’m more concerned with lean body mass. You females get too caught up with the weight part,” he chuckles.
Well that’s because weight is how ‘we females’ get judged, Alpha Male, I think to myself.
He’s reading my mind again.
“Seriously, don’t worry about your weight. I’ll get you to your goal.” And then he said what would become his own mantra during this entire process:
Just trust me.
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