So, I have to thank my lucky stars that my time in the military did not ever expose me to the possibility of becoming a POW. I now know that undeniably, I would have caved and spilled state secrets to whomever happened to be torturing me. I know this, because I have now considered myself a POW of my personal trainer. I do believe he is already trying to kill me. And, I am paying him to do this. Why, you ask? Because my flabilicious rear end can't take anymore Double-Doubles from In-n-Out without his help.... I use the word "help" very loosely here. I really don't think he was trying to get back at me for my recent faux pas, but just trying to do his job of turning my pile of goo derriere back into something solid again.
Man, he is way too good at what he does. I was sore not three minutes after leaving training. I barely made it down the stairs to the locker room. My legs were jello and my arms probably couldn't have lifted an inflated balloon over my head. And to top it off, my "core" finally told me what it consisted of. Can you say "I want my mommy?" I could, that is, if I weren't in so much pain. And I have five more sessions with him? What on earth was I thinking???
The one plus, is that I know I'm going to EVENTUALLY be thankful for this. I'm certainly not right now, but when I start seeing positive results, I'll be much more pleased that I chose to go this route. For now, I'm just really irritated that I had to choose the BEST personal trainer to work with. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I think I may be in too much pain to sleep, although I'm going to give it my best shot!
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