Okay, so I heeded my doctor's advice. I started up hard core with the trainer again and have been careful about what I have been eating. I also instructed Adam and Ellie to make pig noises every time they see me eat. Ellie has confused a pig’s snort with a horse’s neigh, but it still works. Adam is actually old enough to just say “Mom, if you eat that you will get fatter and die faster.” He also figured out how to work my Blackberry messenger and leaves immediate voice messages with my trainer if I cheat.
I started today with one of those bullshit energy drinks that my trainer Rick has been pushing on me. It had the same “stroke-like” side effect that the Metamucil has on me, but I figured I would give it a try.
I dropped the kids at school in my rental car with Rhode Island plates. Drama saw me and told me I look “cute” in the car. She also said with Rhode Island plates I can totally ignore certain low-level traffic laws and that the other motorists won't mind because they will just blame it on me being an out-of-towner. (Now you know why she is my other best friend.)
Anyway, E and I usually work out with Rick together on Wednesdays at E’s home in her beautiful home gym. But this morning, she emailed Rick and me that her family had been throwing up since 2am and that she was concerned that we might catch the disease even though her gym is all the way at the other end of her 10,000 square foot home.
It's okay, I cancel all the time too, so no hard feelings. Rick and I agreed to train here at my house. In my home “gym.”
I was a little nervous about today’s session because Rick instant-Blackberried me yesterday that he had read my blog. And ended his message by calling me “Ass.”
So when Rick showed up, I knew I could not complain or anything, because I am under the strong impression that I'm on probation with him.
We started by my doing the treadmill. Usually we start with a 5 minute warm up jog, but I laid out the plan for today. “A three minute warm up.” He said “fine, I am just here today to make sure you do not get hurt.”
Just his saying that hurt. Where was the love?
He concentrated very heavily on my abs and arms today. The concentration on abs I could understand but I questioned why he was working my arms so hard. And then I realized that he was trying to cripple me so that I could no longer type.
Anyway, the session went well. At one point, Rick had me doing more shadow boxing moves and I was having a hard time getting it right. I explained to him that I am dyslexic. I take all my tests un-timed and sometimes it just takes me a little longer than others (again emphasizing that I am dyslexic).
He told me that “this is not a reading exercise.” To which I responded “that is a HUGE misconception about dyslexia; that it does NOT only affect how people read letters or numbers.” He told me that I was wrong and I told him that after our session, I would Google it and prove it to him.
Okay, I am wrong. Dyslexia has 100% to do with letters and numbers and nothing to do with doing shadow boxing backwards.
I got very upset and said “then why did the therapist diagnose me as dyslexic all those years ago?” Rick replied “back then they probably just called it that, now they would call it retardation.”
Anyway, I am training with him again tomorrow and every Wednesday and Thursday from here on in.
Time to turn this 37 year old's ass around and get back in to shape.
And for the record, I didn't really gain 8 pounds in a month as I had told my doctor… I was kind of just wanting to rule out that I had a stroke. I knew if I had told the nurse that that was the true reason of my calling, she would have made me go to the hospital, and after I had just been there about a month ago to take care of my home-acid -facial peel that had left my face looking the color of an orangutan’s ass, I was not in a rush to go back to the ER.
However, I do think that my doctor had a point that I need to start really exercising again and eating healthfully. Certainly no harm in that, right?