To move this mountain.

A second trip to the gym today, only this time it included a free Personal Trainer.  Just for a session that is, not to take home and keep which is a bit of a shame, or would have been had the designated PT been  Zach, or Matt, or Daniel (all young and super buff)....mine however was Gary.....middle aged and showing it, although as it turned out, extremely motivational.  

The appointment had begun in much the same way as every other appointment in my life begins.  Me being introduced as  "Bambi", to which Gary (the trainer) did a spot of LOL-ing and stated quite categorically that there was no way he was calling me THAT.  I can't tell you how frustrating it is when people respond this way.   I could understand it perhaps if I was asking to be addressed as something ridiculous like "Santa Claus" or "Talula does the Hula from Hawaii" (both of which incidentally are actual names).  Surely though in this modern world where children are ludicrously labelled with titles such as Peach, Apple and Poppadom is BAMBI really even that out there?

Once the drama of the name was over (but not before I had to explain its origin.  Big yawn) he got down to the nitty gritty.  What did I want from our session, why had I joined the gym and what was I ultimately there for?   Well to be honest Gary I just thought it would be a laugh to meet lots of new people so I could go through the whole name thing several more times, because although I've probably repeated the story twice a week every week for the past twenty nine years  I just can't get enough of it.  Just like I will never tire of being serenaded with the Sex Pistols "Who killed Bambi?" and being asked where "Thumper" is.  Or the absolute classic....being told "Bambi......oh you're such a dear". 

Next was a question about body types.  Did I know what the three were?  Well apparently not 'midget', 'dwarf' and 'normal' as I had been mistakenly led to believe.  No the three are these: ectomorphs, mesomorphs and endomorphs.  Corrinna, he tells me (because he had done a session with her too) is somewhere betwixt ecto and meso.  I however am on the lower end of endomorph,  bordering on lumpoblob.   I have to admit to feeling hugely embarrassed at the stark contrast between the two of us.  Had she not been there during our introduction I would of straight away lied and told him I am genetically impaired, coming from an entire family of morbidly obese persons all of whom were dead of heart disease by the age of 23, thus relatively speaking I am in excellent shape. Instead I had to suffer the indignation of his "what the hell happened to you?" looks until she left, when I promptly informed him all of the above and that she is adopted.  Family secret.

From thereon in I was weighed, measured, officially pronounced obese due to my BMI which was in the "wow you're a porker" range and generally humiliated.     "Don't worry though Ba(ha ha)m(ha)bi" says Gary, "things can only improve from here".   Clearly Gary is not a great judge of character........things from here could get a hell of a lot worse let me tell you Gazzer me old mate. 

His overall conclusion was that I eat too little, too irregularly and what I do eat is nutritionally rubbish.  In addition, with all the yo-yo dieting I have done in my life, my metabolism is severely confused......and thinks I may be starving.   More than just confused then I'd say....how about blind and stupid too.  

Anyway he has worked out my ideal daily calorie intake, the percentage composition of carbs/protein/fats I should be including and tomorrow we are meeting up to plan a workout programme.  Meanwhile I have been sent away with three mini goals to achieve.  Number 1) drink adequate amounts of water,  Number 2) commit to attending the gym regularly and Number 3) only weigh in once a MONTH.

And this is the impossible part. 

It was at that point I broke in to my first sweat this year.  If he'd asked me to drink 97 litres of water a day I would have panicked less.  I wanted to sit him down and explain my complex relationship with the scales - my ritualistic process of stepping on, stepping off repeatedly six or seven times each morning, noon and night and the dread that sets in if I'm away from them for any more than twelve hours - but what would be the point.  It's clear to me that no-one understands this compulsion of mine, and  after the whole name fiasco I didn't want to further affirm his assumptions about my mental health, or lack of it.  Therefore I have decided to lie, which I appreciate is morally wrong, but in comparison to the demand he is placing upon me, I would question which is the greater offense.   Asking me to go scaleless is like forcing your average Sun reading housewife to deny herself a daily dose of Jeremy Kyle. 

Positively barbaric.

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