Each morning that I show up for a training session, I find myself staring at this lovely pair of rubber fat and muscle reproductions. I suspect someone somewhere thought used properly these would inspire me to work harder. Not at all, in fact these do nothing but inspire me to create X-rated pictures. Great globules of fake fat are not inspiring rubber muscle does not enthuse.

These are toys they leave us to play with after our workout, which is something to look forward to though. As we stand there, sweating glistening we can poke at the deep pocked (gad they even gave it cellulite) rubber fat dreaming of the day we will no longer have so much of it. We can stroke lovingly the deep red dense fake muscle and pretend someday we will have some, or even that we have some underneath our fat. I think the trainers at my gym leave these out not as demonstration models but rather so their clients can de-stress after workouts, so we can bounce, poke, prod and even tear a little. The result of my imaginative poking is this.

That piece of paper is my days workout.

I have a fantastic trainer, though I often picture her in leather thigh high boots, a bustier with whip in hand (no this isn’t a twisted fantasy you have not discovered my dark secrets). My trainer has a great understanding of my limitations and works with me to find balance between my great desire not to re-injure and my need to get healthy. She is also a fantastic listener, I get a twofer with her, “move your ass” and girl-talk. Joellen (what a great name, right) understands when I say, “I can’t do that”; I am not whining I am actually saying something within my injured body is not going to allow me to do what she is asking. I love this about her!

My trainer is like me, not quite normal on the social spectrum. She isn’t what you expect; her hair is like mine all spikey and unanticipated. She wears unmatched shoes, everyday it isn’t an accident. She isn’t bouncy; she doesn’t wear make-up to the gym (thank you). She has a brain between her ears (not saying this is like me only mentioning it). She doesn’t take herself too seriously but she has a very serious side and focus on a future beyond what she is doing today, right now. She is health conscious, diet conscious and can discuss with great insight and knowledge how our bodies work. I really appreciate this about her, it makes me trust her. What I like most, honestly and I hope if she reads this she isn’t offended, she is imperfect. In her imperfection, with her injuries that she has had to recover from she gives me and I am certain her other clients hope.

Right now I can get myself to the gym at least two mornings a week because (1) I pay her to make certain I move my muscles the right way and (2) I look forward to talking to her. We have agreed I don’t do squats (this is what you do in the woods when there are no public restrooms available) I do Plié or even Grand Plié, but I do not squat.

I suspect she thinks the things that sometimes come out of my mouth are a bit odd; she just goes with it this is another thing I like about her. My guess is she knows I don’t like facing mirrors, ever. I find the entire sweating glistening, weight lifting, Plié and other for health reasons things we do at the gym quite undignified. There is nothing attractive about it. There is especially nothing attractive if you are zaftig.

I know I need to do more, I feel the difference she is helping me make in my health. Despite pornographic rubber fat at the trainer’s desk and the honest truth I find nothing wonderful in sweating I know I have to do this for me. Thankfully I have help along the way!