I turn 40 on the ominous date of 9/11 this year. I have been dreading this birthday since I turned 39 knowing the death knell ringing of 40 was right around the corner. Since I have not blogged for awhile and since D-Day is fast approaching I have decided to broach the topic which is ever increasingly present in my mind.
My mom says "Marjorie Allison, 40 is the new 30, you have nothing to complain about." Mom, where did you hear that? "Everyone says so, the magazines, TV......" Mom, I said please tell "everyone" they are full of shit. I was still considered a hottie when I was 30. Now I am going to be 40 trying to look like a 30 year old hottie. "Everyone" is kidding themselves.
I however am grounded in the ugly reality of the situation. Sure, I can still wear a size 4-6. My pants from 5 years ago still fit just fine. However my 40 year old body does not resemble my former 30 year old body underneath aforementioned pants. Again, 40 is the new 30 is a load of malarkey.
Seeing the writing on the wall I requested that my beloved treat me to a 10 visit package with a personal trainer for my birthday last year in order to motivate me and "get me on track". My 39th birthday was an impetus to DO SOMETHING in order not to let gravity take hold and drag me and my ass down with it. My husband and I were weekend gym attendees since our personal gym equipment was stored in California along with all our other worldly goods. "Why do you need a personal trainer?" my husband asked. "You have a monthly gym membership here to a facility which houses a hundred fitness machines. You know how to exercise and you know what to do. Why do you need to pay someone to tell you to do it?" For the life of me I cannot understand why this man continues to try to reason with me using logical arguments. After almost 11 years of marriage does he not realize logic means nothing to a women who has her mind set on something?
Why does anyone feel the need to pay an individual to stand over us barking out orders for an hour and ensuring you sweat, groan and don't cheat on the 12th repetition of your assigned exercise? What happened to my internal drive chip motivating me to exercise? Oh, that's right- never had one, not likely to develop one. In short, I drag myself to the gym bitching and complaining the whole way. My entrance into the gym resembles a prisoner on their way to the gallows.
Because it's my birthday I answer. My beloved looked at me for a long time saying nothing. Plus, I hurriedly added- I could be in danger of not fitting into my wardrobe. All it ever does is rain here. It's depressing and I cannot walk Shadow every day like in California. You could be in jeopardy of having to buy me a whole new wardrobe!! I could quickly see him doing the math in his head. "Alright, go ahead then" he said at last.
This is how my personal trainer John came into my life. I had been mulling this over for awhile while scoping out the possibilities at our health club. There was no shortage to choose from. I knew right away John was the one for me after observing him in action. He had perfect posture, a military bearing, seldom smiled and appeared to be always focused and on task. Later on after we had known each other for awhile I found out that John was a perfectionist just as I suspected. We would be in the middle of an exercise and I would catch him gazing across the gym at a clueless gym member who was incorrectly using a fitness machine. He would start shaking his head and grimacing often unaware that he was doing so. John, I would ask why don't you just go show them how to use the machine correctly? It is obviously bothering you. "No Marjorie, I would be a rich man if I had a 5 pence for every time I corrected someone who was using the equipment incorrectly." This was his standard answer but I would still see him gazing over at the unsuspecting fitness wannabee looking like he was sucking lemons.
Oh and yes he was very easy on the eyes. I have to argue in defense that no one is ever motivated by an ugly personal trainer. No one loves an ugly baby.....but I digress. I automatically dismissed the younger trainers who I knew I would be able to manipulate and run roughshod over. I needed someone who was not easily intimidated and who would not put up with my nonsense and allow me to cheat and wiggle my way out of the exercise routine.
"What are your fitness goals?" John asked me when we first met. Well...... to fit into my current wardrobe, gain muscle tone and lose weight. "Hmmmm.. gain muscle? Well that will be refreshing. Most women hate the idea of gaining muscle." Oh, not me I said. I happen to be exceptionally fitness savvy and understand that the more muscle I have the more calories I will burn, thus allowing me to eat more. "Well we will need to incorporate some cardio into every workout then" he added. Well actually, I hate cardio. John's face showed the first signs of concern. "Right then, let's try the stepper to begin with." I can honestly say, almost a year later that my first session with John was the first and only time we used the stepper. If I remember correctly, I made it to 5 before my legs gave out and collapsed. I told you I am not good at any cardio I complained to John. "Yes, well I can see we have our work cut out for us he replied."
John has also discovered the hard way that I lack two basic talents necessary for half of the exercises he would like to see me do- namely, balance and coordination. I have to hand it to him though, he stubbornly continues to add them to our weekly regimen knowing that it is probably bad for his rep at our gym. My favorite exercise which demonstrates this lack of balance and coordination is the "Twist and throw the medicine ball". As John constantly points out this is a super "core" exercise. When you prepare to turn 40 you realize that your core (abs, back and pelvis) need all the help they can get. This exercise consists of me twisting from one side to the next and tossing the medicine ball across to John. It only takes a minute and no more than two throws to see other nearby gym members nearby start to create more space and begin to back away from us. I believe this exercise keeps John on his toes as much as I as he often has to leap and make mad grabs in order to keep the ball from hitting other gym members. This always adds some much needed frivolity to our exercise routine.
I have learned a great deal about John in the past 9 months and I am confidant he has learned more about me than he ever wanted to know. I asked him not too long ago if any of his other clients complained and carried on the way I had a tendency to. "No, Marjorie they are all British and do what I tell them to do" he replied. Even if they are sore and in pain from our previous session they tend to soldier through it." Poor John, I guess he drew the short straw and got stuck with the whiny American woman. No one has ever told him that being my personal trainer is like having a therapist for an hour. He is constantly redirecting my attention to the task on hand. One of my favorite things about John is that he speaks perfect "Queens English". John is Oxford educated and has the best grammar of anyone I know. He is a former Biology teacher before he left it all behind to become a personal trainer. "Hup, hup!" he will say encouraging me to hurry along faster than my normal turtle pace. John, is hup hup the same as tally ho? "Yes indeed Marjorie, good use of the Queens English and proper context as well."
John is 51 years old and does not have an ounce of fat on him. It is hard to find a sympathetic ear when your trainer often reminds you that he did not start his "heavy lifting" until he was in his 40s. John was looking over my shoulder while I weighed myself at the gym scale and bemoaning the fact that I had not lost the desired 10 pounds. "Well what have you been eating that you shouldn't be?" he asked. Well, I gave up the french fries! I said indignantly. I only eat whole grain carbohydrates....ok, it may be the wine I admitted. Or it could possibly be the rare kit kat bar. I have switched to the dark kit kats I sputtered. Those are much more healthy right? Oh, and I never have wine and a kit kat on the same day. John looked at me with a smile on his face. "Marjorie, do you always remember you ate the kit kat when it comes time for you to enjoy your wine?" No, not always I admitted. "Hmmmm...well that could indeed be your problem."
When I first started seeing John I showed him a picture of my very good friend Karen. She is three years older than I and has a body to die for. Karen, who is a friend and a mentor is also a body builder in her spare time. She is a single professional with a high powered career and who has managed to win professional body building contests on the side. She is my idol and a born over achiever (see attached picture). John looked at the picture and then back at me. "Marjorie, do you know what your friends diet is like?" he asked. Sure, no alcohol, fish, chicken, vegetables, ummmm water? "And are you prepared to eat like that?" I paused for a moment in true reflection. How about we shoot for a happy medium instead, I asked? I was treated to a rare smile.
Most of you have probably cottoned on to the fact that my visits have far exceeded the original planned 10. When my sweetheart asked- "Have you not completed your package already?" Yes, but I decided to re up for an indefinite period I replied. "Oh really and what made you decide this on your own?" Well, I believe my butt is lifting I told him. My husband stared hard at me. I had him in a trap and he knew it. There was no way he could say my butt was not lifting as that would mean more trouble than he wanted to buy in to. If he agreed he would only reinforce my decision. He sighed and I took that as a sure sign of defeat.
So, John and I continue our weekly journey towards supreme fitness. My goals being to fit into my existing wardrobe and look "30ish". His goals much simpler- simply to survive another week with me.
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