04 March 2009

Gymtastic - Or Not

This morning I did something that I thought I'd never do. I went to a gym and met with a personal trainer.

I never thought this day would come because
a) I had to get up very early
b) I had to go to a gym
c) The gym I joined is that typical LA place where starlets and business folk go to worship themselves while throwing scornful glances and those wearing size 6 or higher, and I can't stand that kind of place.

My trainer, let's call him Derek, is what you might envision an LA trainer to be: kinda short, buff, and constantly throws out phrases like "I want to motive you to..." He also refers to me in the third person during the workout session.

I arrived at the gym at the very unkind hour of 7:20. The incredibly tanned young man at the check-in desk wasn't especially kind nor was he helpful. Awesome. I couldn't figure out how to work the permanent locks on the lockers in the changing room, so I stashed all of my precious belongings in a locker without a lock and prayed that God Himself would stand guard over my things (especially my iPhone, which I love so very much). Tanned boy was not amused at having to tell me the directions twice. "Um, yeah, so, like you just open the lock, then, like, scramble the code, and close the door. Oh, and you have to set your own, like, code first." He must write assembly instructions for Mattel in his spare time.

Derek was late. 7 minutes late, to be exact. At about the 5 minute mark I thought of grabbing my things and leaving, telling that tan and unkind receptionist that Derek would have to reschedule. I'm paying Derek the GDP of a small country to tell me how to work out, so every minute counts! (Plus, I'd use any excuse to get outta the gym. I detest the smell, the lighting, the clothes, the unspoken rules and etiquette)

Our workout was preceded by a chat about my goals and a little more Derek advertising. Like everyone in this town, Derek is writing a book (fitness) and wants to have a show (preferably with a book deal). Gracious. What did I get myself into?

The workout wasn't especially enlightening, but I learned how to use the machines and where the towels were located (if you don't wipe down your machine after using it, the scornful glances turn brutal). One of my goals is to improve my posture. We worked on this while I walked on the treadmill. Derek stood behind me because all of the treadmills around me were occupied and told me to "stand up like the Queen," "roll your feet," and "pretend someone has a rope tied around your waist and is pulling you forward." This may seem trivial, but I challenge you to try all of these things while walking quickly on a moving belt that is slightly elevated and trying to have a face-to-face conversation with someone behind you. Not so easy. Not so graceful.

Thankfully, my workout ended with just enough time for me to dash into the changing room and find that all of my precious belongings and my magnificent iPhone were waiting for me in that unsecured corner locker. I took my belongings to the showers and kept my eyes focused ahead. Seems many women are immensely comfortable in that public changing area. And yes, I was that girl who didn't get dressed in the common area but instead dressed in the hot and humid shower area. I wasn't about to leave the iPhone in an unsecure location again! Whatevs. That's how I roll since I am apparently the antithesis of an LA girl.

My reward for pushing through this new challenge? As much coffee as my nerves can stand.

2 comments:

Unknown said...

This is hilarious. I never get dressed in the common room either. If you ever go to the Dead Sea, you will have the same problem. Yuck!

MTS said...

That is CLASSIC. Love it.