Cause it’s Monday…

Blah, blah, blah… it’s done.

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As I lay on my living room floor, sweaty, tired, bloated from too much sodium during my weekend of “I obviously forgot I’m in training “… I barely eek out this post to encourage someone to get up – no for real, get up- and do it.

I don’t know what it is but whatever it may be, get it done. Go to that gym, make that call, offer that apology, climb that mountain… whatever. If I  had to slink myself into spandex and lycra to swing a 40lb kettle bell 50 times, then you too have to do that thing.

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OK, I think that’s all for now. I have to crawl to the shower….

La.

PS- don’t forget to go do the thing…now.

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On the way to the gym….

On the way to the gym….

So I was scared. Or maybe like anxious, a bit more than nervous, definitely uneasy. I had shadowed Patrice for the past two months as an internship was the last step to finally complete the qualifications for my Personal Trainer certification. So I knew her. I knew her workouts. Shoot, I helped teach and coach her workouts. But I wasn’t a client. At least not yet. Not until now. Now, I would be on the receiving end of those “keep going, butt down, c’mon don’t stop, work, work!” So yea, I’m not gonna lie. I was scared. Or, maybe like anxious. A bit more than nervous, definitely uneasy.

I’ve had trainers before. More than a few. Ones I remember more interested in taking me out than working me out, one that pushed me so hard I threw up in the locker room and could barely walk for two days, one that made me feel like I was wasting my time and my money… just never a great fit. And although I knew Patrice was an excellent trainer, I’d put her more in the “throwing up in the locker room” category (sorry, P!). She was tough. And even though I work hard and am very dedicated, I have weak forearms and weigh 240lbs. I have hips, curves, tummy, and booty and although I can style and clothe this body of mine like nobody’s business, fashion doesn’t exactly equal success in the gym. In the gym, every roll, jiggle, and bounce would work against my jumps, sprints, and lifts. And I thought about all of that on my way to the gym.

But on the way I continued. Taking my fear and stuffing it into my gym bag, I stepped up in there like I was born to sweat (knowing good and well I tossed and turned the entire night before).

And Patrice kicked my tail.

No, for real. It was brutal. Pound for pound, she made a big girl work. Jumps, squats, dumbbells, running, it was not a game. And like I said – I’m not new to working out! But this was a bit different. Not harsh, or mean,  but tough. Really tough.  I thought I was prepared  but the truth is when you’re  you’re never really prepared. Never really ready. You just have to decide you want to be better, and go forth in that direction. One foot in front of the other, come what may. Once you make that decision, that no matter what happens, you will conquer this task, climb that mountain, whatever is it is – then you move. You jump. You squat. You climb. You cry. You run. But you move. And move is what I did. For that hour and 18 minutes, yes I counted, I moved. And it was hard, and it was grueling, but I did it. Then the day after that, I did it again. And then a few days later, I was back again. And that was almost three weeks ago. Yea… I’m kinda proud.

 

 

 

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