A couple of nights ago, while at the gym, I notice this muscular, slightly chiseled, half-way attractive personal trainer. Sporting a grey G-Unit tank top (of course garnished with a black stripe down the shoulder straps), black gym pants, and some black NewBalance sneaks, I wouldn't have even given him a second look if it weren't for the fly, energetic, Ms. New Booty he was training. ***Don't worry I love men and men only, but I'm not a hater and can appreciate another woman's beauty…which usually causes me to push harder on the treadmill***
While struggling on the stair climber, I observed the various lung sets he was having her perform. I'm taking mental notes saying to myself Okay, left knee up, squat to the left, back to starting position, right knee up, squat to the right, back to starting position, repeat. Feeling confident I retained his whole forty-five minute routine, I vowed to go home and "work it out". Yeah, so that didn't work. After thirty seconds of squatting to the left, I squatted my too many cinnamon bun buns on my plush red sofa and repeatedly flipped through Channels 2 – 699, for the next 2 hours.
Okay, so it wasn't that I didn't remember this trainers regimen, it was I didn't have him sitting there smacking me on my butt saying, "You got this Tammi. Four more sets to go! If you want Rhianna's legs, Beyonce's booty, with that '04 Janet Jackson abs you gotsta work!" I was missing the accountability, the motivation, the muscular, slightly chiseled, half-way attractive personal trainer. So I decided to make a change – I was getting a personal trainer. No, don't be silly, I wasn't going to hire a personal trainer. See what I figured was "Why hire a personal trainer when they train in public?"
So last night, while at the gym, I stood approximately 15 steps away for the Ms. New Booty and her trainer and just did everything he was instructing her to do. I didn't want to be too obvious so I positioned myself to the side of her. For the first ten minutes everything was going great. Maybe it was because he was only on the stretching portion but everything started going down hill when he got to the squatting portion of the training. Well I wouldn't say down hill more like it would have made for a great parody on Saturday Night Live.
I guess he realized I was doing everything Ms. New Booty was doing because he whispers something to her and as she continues to squat to the left, left knee up, he walks over to me. I'm trying my hardest to look focused, unwavering, determined to complete my set. He says nicely, "Hello Ma'am, if you would like to utilize my services you can speak to the front desk and they can give you my schedule." I'm still looking forward, trying not to lose concentration at the task at hand. Act like you have NO clue what he is talking about Tammi.
"I'm sorry Sir; I'm not sure what you are talking about.” Squat to the left, left knee up, squat to the right, right knee up.
"Well Ma'am I notice you are copying my client's exercise". I stop, look him right in the eye, with a hint of disgusted, "Excuse me, but when did you create the Squat? Do you have a patent on it or something? Is there a sign on the wall which says 'Squatting only to be performed in the care of a Personal Trainer'? I think not. So until I see such a sign, I will squat all I want." WOW?!? Where the heck did that come from?!?!
The personal trainer walks away, again whisper something in Ms. New Booty's ear and I try to stay face as she turns and looks at me. As they both walk away, I continue to do my squats with an added lunge or two just to personalize it.
Okay, five minutes later, I get a tap on my shoulder, "Excuse me Miss. We received a complaint about you. If you don't mind retrieving your possessions and following me." So did they have to go tattle to the manager on me? GEESH…
So tonight, while sitting at my desk typing this, sore from 23 sets of squats and lunges, I realize, maybe I didn't need a personal trainer. I should have just struggled on the stair climber, because at least then I would still have a gym membership. Big sigh as I stare at my Big Texas Cinnamon Bun.