I noticed something while I was in the bath last night. It was a strange something that I had never noticed before. It was new. It was my biceps. Clearly all of my 'hard work' at the gym has been paying off. I use single apostrophes in this instance because I do not think that I have been working that hard. At all.
Sure, I pay a personal trainer, a pilates physio and an evil multi-national gym good money to help me maintain my fabulousness. But I have been slacking off. Six weeks ago I got a strengths program from my personal trainer, during that period I managed to fit in about three sessions. When I met with my personal trainer on the weekend to 'review my program', he became excited. If you've ever had a personal trainer you know the kind of excitement I'm talking about. It's sort of fake and a little overwhelming. Well, on Saturday I copped it big time. Apparently, I've really improved. Apparently, I am kind of impressive. Apparently, my personal trainer gives the best programs ever. He actually asked my permission to discuss my improvements with his other clients.
This was all well and good, except that I felt like a big fat fraud and was actually quite embarrassed. I did not have the heart to tell him that my 'improvements' may actually come down to factors related to my age, metabolism and the work I have been doing in pilates, and not just his weights program. Still, I do seem to have biceps now, that's kinda cool.
Oh, and for the record - I am not attracted to him. Thank god. I could not imagine anything worse than being attracted to my personal trainer. I am always baffled when people suggest that I could meet someone at the gym. My fellow gym goers see me at my absolute ugliest. I am all red, and sweaty, and usually wearing head bands that give me an afro. Sure, I walk out of there feeling great, but by golly gosh do I look like shit. Which is a shame, because I really quite enjoy scoping out the fellas floating about the place. I have started calling them Gym Pups. And they certainly make my rest periods between weight sets much easier to bear.
In completely unrelated news, I had lunch with my mother on Sunday and she made the comment that my freaked out Zit Attack might actually be dermatitis. For about thirty seconds I was over the moon. It was not pimples! Perhaps I am not going through a second adolescence after all!! Then she commented that I had had this before. When I was a teenager. And then I realised that dermatitis on your face that requires steroid cream is probably worse than pimples. I guess that is what you get when you fake-out your personal trainer.
