My new hot spot, Ladies Workout Express
I just came back from a session with my personal trainer. She is twenty-six, has three kids, skinny as a rail, eats ice cream and looks eighteen. I look worn out in my sad gym outfit. Denim capris, a one size fits all T with a smart chick on the front of it, oversized New Balance shoes that make my feet feel like they are stuck in buckets. I have to stand in front of the mirror, next to this adorable girl and watch myself lift weights. It is the closest moment to hell I've had in some time. I joined the gym a week ago, hired a personal trainer and am determined this is my year to glow, even if just from the sweat. Know what, I am feeling great. After one week. How cool is that?
I look like the me I was when my husband died. I did loose fifteen pounds the first few months, they have come back to visit me again. But I am sluggish. I have never been sluggish. I sit writing on the computer until 4 AM some mornings. My inner clock is confused. What time is it? I am confused. What day is it? Inner clock and I are having a meeting of the minds. I am exercising and getting us both on track.
Here are my ground rules to the personal trainer. I am paying for my sessions so I want some say!
I want to work with weights and machines. If I wanted to be on the floor doing leg kicks I'd stay at home. Check box one, no floor exercises.
"Let's get your weight and measurements." She was so perky. "No, I think not." I was so determined. "I'll know changes when I see them."
Numbers don't matter. I feel the same with age. Don't box me in with figures. The point of this adventure is to feel better, move with more grace and feel hot. Not hot flash hot, but hot and sexy looking.
It is not a numbers game for me, it is a state of mind situation. She agreed. So I love working with her.
I ride the exercise bike for five minutes to warm up. Last week we worked on my upper body, this week my legs. They are still moving after today's workout, so that is a plus.
After my session with the trainer I ride the bike for thirty minutes. Long, boring minutes. I try to read. I drop my book. I try to watch TV but it is hard for me to see the captions from that distance. I think I will take music next visit. I'll groove while I move.
If I sound like a wus, I may be. But I'll be a strong wus soon.
My pet photographer recommended the gym. It is low key, a power gym for women only. I love that.
She told me about it when she came to take my "professional" photo for my media kit. I was grumpy (rare for me, but it happens) and uptight. Had been dreading the session. Instead of doing my hair and fixing my makeup I was cleaning dog poop off the floor when she arrived. Now that's a way to look your best. It did make me laugh, the situation was so silly, so my smile was big. April In Paris was my dog partner for the shoot. She was more glamorous than I was. Pity. But she is a diva. Check out my photographer's web Rupa K. Photography. That girl can photograph dogs! The gym came up as a way for me to relax. I have been up late writing, yet again, and marketing my book. My health taking a back table. Rupa convinced me to start taking care of myself. It works. I have a glow. I need a shower, but I think I'll leave the sweat glistening on my skin. It's salty and maybe the dogs will kiss me. I am my own cocktail, a salty dog! Yum. I'll keep you posted on how this all works out.
Widow Lesson Learned: Sweat makes you glow and washes away the grim in your brain.
