Hoo boy, so I've been reading old journal entries lately, and I kind of can't believe how many times I referenced going to the gym. It really began to embarrass me; not because I was lying, or had some lame ulterior motive, but because WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY MUSCLES, THEN? Clearly I was doing something wrong that entire time, even though I thought I had a pretty good handle on what I was doing. Which brings me to the following hilarious confession: I'm totally meeting with a personal trainer at my new gym on Monday evening. It's one of those "Hey you joined, so here's a complimentary session with a personal trainer" things, which I'm sure will most likely be an extended pitch for signing up for additional money-costing personal training sessions. But... it actually seemed fairly on the up-and-up, so why not? [I'm sure I'll find out]
But man, the trainer... just... ok, if there was somehow a Smallville-esque prequel to Toy Story, this guy would definitely play twenty-something-Buzz Lightyear. I think he might even have the EXACT same smile. No, I mean it! I think Pixar made his mouth! But that's cool, I mean, this is pretty much what you want in a personal trainer, right? In the same way that you want your hairdresser to have good hair, and your tailor to be wearing a well-fit suit, etc. So he's hardcore, good! But it also puts some pressure on me: for example, I'm supposed to "identify" my "fitness goals," presumably in terms that aren't retarded. And I'm not really sure that "Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke" is going to register with this guy. Maybe... "a happy medium between Popeye and Bluto?" Or probably more something like "I want to condition train while also crosstraining in musculoskeletal management, refocusing caloric intake for an optimal metabolic response." Which I obviously just made up and makes no sense. But I love "musculoskeletal management," that... sounds like a well-paying career.
This will at least make for a good story, right?