Busted

About a week ago, I had an hour to kill before meeting a new client. I hadn't had lunch and my stomach was growling as I slipped into a Starbucks. I was already drooling at the thought of treating myself to a "low-fat" blueberry muffin or--just maybe--one of their doughnuts that contain enough calories to feed a small village in India for a week. YUM.

As I'm rocking back and forth on my heels, peering into the goodie counter, I look up and across the room--directly into the eyes of my trainer who is watching me with a big-ass grin on his face. 

I walked over to where he was sitting. "Can you believe people actually eat the stuff they have in there?" I asked motioning to the display case and shaking my head in dismay. "Really, it's sad." 

"Uh-huh," he said. 

SO busted. I sighed and went back to the counter and ordered a grande decaf which, I have to say, was nowhere near as satisfying as a muffin or doughnut. Ben wouldn't have said anything if I had ordered the biggest muffin there, but it would have been hard to eat it, knowing I would be working out with him in a couple of hours. 

Busted and ego-bruising, but I didn't have to sweat off the extra 900 calories. Probably a fair trade. 

For All You Runners Out There...

My trainer sent this to me. Yes, it's a big commercial for Nike, but the words perfectly capture the runner's experience.

NIKE

You pretended the snooze button didn’t exist.  You dragged your butt out of bed while others slept, while others ate their pancakes.  You had a feast of protein, glucose and electrolytes.  You double knotted.  You left the front porch light on and locked the door behind you.  You ran.  5k’s, 10k’s, 26.2 miles.  Some days more, some days less.  You rewarded a long run with a short run and a short run with a long run.  Rain tried to slow you down.  Sun tried to microwave you.  Snow made you feel like a warrior.  You cramped.  You bonked.  You paid no mind to comfort.  On weekends, on holidays, you made excuses to keep going.  Questioning yourself.  Played mind games.  Put your heart before your knees.  Listened to your breathing.  Sweat sunscreen into your eyes.  Worked on your farmer’s tan.  You hit the wall.  You went through it.  You decided to be a man about it.  You decided to be a woman about it.  Finished what you started.  Proved what you were made of.  Just kept putting mile after mile on your internal odometer.  For 25 years you ran.  And we ran with you.  How much farther will we go? 

As far as you will.  

I Thought I Was Being Smart...

I meet with my trainer every Monday and Wednesday at 2 PM. Usually this is a good time for me. I've put in a morning's worth of work and am ready to let loose. Today, however, I was not feeling it. Nope, nope, nope. Just not the least little bit in the mood to work out. 

So I thought I was being smart when I asked Ben to spare my legs in today's workout. "I've got a hard track workout tomorrow," I said, injecting as much "woe is me" into my voice as I could. "So I need my legs fresh." 

Mentally, I was congratulating myself. No legs means no cardio = lighter workout.

"Cool. We'll stick with arms and abs," said Ben. The slow grin that spread across his face should have warned me of what was to come. 

It was an evil hour. I looked at the clock early on and moaned, "I can't believe it's only 2:20."

"You're going to hurt my feelings and make me think you don't want to be here," said Ben. "Now give me 50 dips on the bench."

This is the up side of working with a trainer. I would never in a million years have worked out today if I were left to my own free will. Nap? Yes. Ugly exercises with a dumbbell? Not so much. But I feel all the better for having worked through it. Strong arms, strong abs and... oh shoot.

No excuse tomorrow for shaky legs.

Cheers!